#But I should probably get more exposure to that before I firmly say no I will not be birthing a child

[dontmeanyoudontmissit]

.

[marypsue]

not to be a horrible shipper all over your plotfic but what would the ships look like in your ageswap au?

The sample I posted does rather invite the question!

I should put out there, as a general rule, I'm not all that interested in Mike/Will and I don't have plans to write it anywhere. I don't really vibe with it, generally, and I believe I've mentioned previously (but maybe only in tags) that I really hate the way the Duffers conceived of and have been handling the possibility that Will might be gay. And many of the ways parts of the fandom have acted in response. I get that it's important to some people, and I don't want to rain on anybody's parade, but I've seen so much bad behaviour from the showrunners all the way down that it's pretty firmly put me off.

With that said, though. This fic was undertaken before I'd had much exposure to the fandom, and also, the roleswap plays...well, a role. I'm a sucker for a good triad relationship, especially the Monster Hunting Trio, and in this version of things, that's Mike and El and Will. So this is probably the only time you're ever going to see me writing reciprocated romantic feelings between Mike and Will. It's just that El is also there. And the entire context of their previous relationships with each other has changed. It feels different. I don't know. I'm operating on vibes, here.

Also because of the roleswap, this is one of those rare places where I'm not mashing Steve and Nancy and Jonathan's faces all together. Nancy and Jonathan are the Hopper and Joyce of this fic, and Steve is the Karen Wheeler. He'll be fine in his loveless marriage while the other two are off having fantastic post-saving-the-world sex. Maybe he'll have an ill-advised affair in the future. Who can say.

(Also Nancy and Barb had a brief on-again-off-again fling post-Nancy's-divorce, which has been over for some time as of the action taking place. Long enough for Barb to find a more stable relationship with the other local lesbian...)

I'm pretty sure that's it, as far as romance goes. Apart from the teen squad, it's pretty secondary to the plot in season 1, and I'm sticking with that. (Also, I need lots of time and space to fully mine the hilarity of Steve being Mike's literal actual father.)

[evanvanness]

My contrarian ETF take

Everyone is excited about ETFs in cryptoland. People think BTC and then ETH ETFs will be approved.

Eth has run up about 33%

Our favorite memecoin has run up about 66%

I've given this take multiple places, so let me put it down on paper so you can make fun of me when I'm wrong. The odds say that I'm likely wrong.

Yet, I firmly declare myself more bearish than the consensus on ETFs. In all aspects.

I'm less convinced than everyone that a spot BTC ETF will be approved.

First, what did the appellate court actually say?

The SEC "failed to adequately explain" and had no "coherent explanation"

What is the law? Per the opinion:

All the SEC has to show is that their decision was not "arbitrary, capricious" and that they "explained the decision."

The Bloomberg reporters say the ETP is happening. They cite all the staff work that is being done, and the fact that the applications are being amended, and the fact that they're all being set for decision on the same day. These are all good fact patterns for an approval.

To be clear, the appellate court's decision is scathingly against the SEC. It's a black mark for Gensler. They set the bar as high as they possibly could. But the bar is not that high, because they can't "substitute [their] policy judgements" by law.

So if you were Gary Gensler and you wanted to reject the ETPs, you'd probably have to do lots of staff work to show that the rejection is not arbitrary and to explain why. In order to reject the ETFs, all you need is your vote, the other 2 Dem commissioners (the 2 Republican commissioners have long dissented) and a detailed explanation of how spot and futures ETFs are different.

The court is relatively handtied if Gensler goes this route.

---

Now to be clear, the way things often work in media is that the reporters are talking directly to people like Gensler or staff, whether off the record or at parties or at the bar at Old Ebbitt's (long a White House/Treasury*** staffer haunt)

So it's definitely possible that approval is a lock, especially since Gensler has long been clear that he favors Bitcoin.

People are acting like it's a lock. I agree chances are probably over 50%, but I don't think it's a lock.

2. It's already priced in.

Everyone is super convinced that the approval is coming. Price has run up a lot. Anecdotally, I know of plenty of people buying over the last couple months "to get in before the ETF" and momentum trading pre-approval.

3. Flows likely to disappoint

We already have futures ETFs for both BTC and ETH. The ETH futures ETFs went live about 3 months ago, and the flows were extremely underwhelming.

Who fundamentally needs a spot ETF to buy?

Sure there are reasons (tracking risk) why spot ETFs are better than futures ETF. Spot should track closer to the underlying. There's no contango or backwardation.

But almost everyone who wants BTC exposure at this point has it. "The institutions" have been around for cycles. Perhaps there are some retirement accounts from middle class Americans who will buy. But are those people rushing to buy?

The argument is basically that financial advisors can pitch it. Which may be true, but financial advisors' principal concern is keeping your business, not maximizing returns. Advocating for a hypervolatile asset is something that tends to get them in trouble, even if the return profile is positive, because most people do not want to see a big loss in any part of their portfolio.

It also seems possible to me that spot ETFs provide meaningful flows over the long-run but not in the short-run.

4. Loss of narrative

I've lost count of how many times over the last decade people have told me that they were buying "because the ETF is around the corner." Whenever I unfortunately end up at general crypto events, I always hear the memecoiners trying to FOMO new retail money into BTC using the ETF approval ("you're frontrunning the intstitutions!").

Look it's anecdotal, but ETFs have been heavily promoted for a long time, especially in the Bitcoin community. Most of these folks didn't sell when the ETF got rejected...because they knew it would come eventually.

My contention is this spot ETF is more valuable to BTC as "it's coming soon" than having actually come.

tldr: While probably likely, I am less convinced that ETF approval is guaranteed. Any decision is likely bearish for the market short-term.

***To be clear, the SEC is on the other side of town next to Union Station but the SEC is under Treasury, relatively speaking.

UPDATE 12/21: Took less than 24 hours to shoot holes in my bearishness that Gensler will continue blocking. The SEC had a conference call today where they apparently told people that the ETFs were going to get approved if they did them the way the SEC wants.

[wallflowerimagines]

oh hello!! i found your blog and i’m so amazed at what you write! i’m unsure if i’ve asked here before, or if this is my first time. how would the lords react to a young F!reader who has liquid mercury wings, and also doesn’t know how to smile (yet)? lil ‘kuudere’ mercury angel lmao. i hope this isn’t too much to ask ^^ tysm and stay safe!! 💛

Thank you! 💛 This is my first time getting this ask. I've interpreted it as more of a child/young teen reader, let me know if you envisioned it differently!

Alcina Dimitrescu

Congratulations! You've just been adopted! 🎉🎉🎉

All of Alcina's mom instincts just clicked on the minute she saw you. You're so small. So cute. She felt the same instant connection to you as she did to her three daughters.

Without even being able to really process it, you're given a room, an entire new wardrobe, and three older sisters who adore you just as much as their mom does. Honestly, it's a little disorienting.

Alcina is a little worried about the fact that you seem to have no real emotions, but she's a patient lady who believes firmly in communication. If you like something and tell her, she believes you. Some people just don't emote that well, after all. She gets used to it very quickly.

(And if anyone even so much as makes a snippy comment about your face or tone, they're straight up dead.)

She is the kind of mom who wants ALL the pictures of her darling children, and makes you sit for many, many formal portraits--some of which she even paints herself.

She likes incorporating Angelic imagery in all of your portraits, too. Your wings are beautiful, and she wants to make sure that you never have insecurities about your appearance or your abilities. If she can show even 1/10th of how perfect she finds you, she calls it a mission accomplished.

Alcina never expected you to smile for her, honestly. You had limits, and she respected them. But when she unveiled the newest family portrait--with all of her children featured prominently--to her surprise she spots a small, trembling smile on your lips.

And when you say 'Thank you, Mother'? Alcina gets really emotional, and even a little teary eyed.

She Immediately drops to her knees and pulls you into the BIGGEST hug. You are always welcome.

Donna Beneviento

But if you're baby, and I'm baby, then who's driving the bus?

Donna does not know how to interact with you. She's already quite inexperienced with social interaction, and without the feedback that she normally gets from people's facial expressions, she's left floundering.

She's really trying her best, too! It's just, your voice doesn't even have the slightest bit of inflection. Are you happy? Sad? Give her a hint she is suffering.

Your deadpan tone just CRACKS Angie up, though.

Angie bridges the gap in your relationship. She is talkative and wacky, which fills the awkward silences between you and Donna very easily.

Similar to Donna, you find it very easy to talk to Angie! She doesn't force you to smile, or talk, or do anything you might be uncomfortable with. She's playful and loud, so you don't have to try very hard around her.

Eventually you two reach a peaceful, relaxing medium. Donna slowly accepts that your words are meant to be taken at face value, and with that realization a lot of the stress between you two melts away.

Also, if you let her make you clothes? She👏is👏 LIVING👏

She loooves to make things for you, and the wings only offer a welcome challenge. She's never worked with anything like that before, and she's so excited!!!!

Angie also wants you to fly around with her in the yard! The three of you actually have a lot of fond memories of outdoor tea parties where Donna primly sits in a chair, watching with a small, happy smile on her face as you flutter through the air with a SCREECHING Angie in your arms. She's having a BLAST!!

It's the first time she sees you smile, too, and it just makes her own smile grow. She never thought she'd have another sibling, but life really is full of surprises, isn't it?

Salvatore Moreau

Salvatore is SO concerned...

You're really young, left alone, with an obvious physical difference that can be spotted a mile away. Someone could target you very easily, and despite your wings he doesn't know if you could safely defend yourself. He really wants to help you out, but uh...

Kids are consistently terrified of him? He doesn't know if you would accept his help or run away screaming.

...but your clothes are so ratty, and it's so cold outside...

Moreau decides to sneakily leave you some cheese and a spare scarf on a rock in plain view. When he sees you put the scarf on and absolutely DEVOUR the piece of cheese, it steals his resolve.

He winds up leaving you a small trail of cheese pieces that lead to his home, and sets up a small separate nest like area for you. It's entirely enclosed, warm and far enough away from his room that he hopes it won't spook you. This will work great!

Little does he know, that you were only a few paces behind him the entire time, and when he finally finished with the setup, he turned around to find you hovering in the doorway, expression blank as always, and mouth full of cheese.

Moreau screamed

You seem happy enough with the new setup, though, and begin to follow Moreau around like a baby duck.

Dr. Moreau Time: He does give you the occasional exam to test your reflexes. He's worried a little bit about the composition of your wings--Mercury is a chemical that is known to cause madness and nerve damage with extended exposure, especially in young children.

He wants to ensure that you're safe from harm, both physical and mental!

One night, many weeks later, when you two are seated side by side watching a movie, you flop into his side with a small smile on your face, and fall asleep. Moreau tries not to wake you up with his overwhelmed sobbing.

Karl Heisenberg

Hello?? Child?? Why are you here???

Karl doesn't quite know what to do with you, at first. He's not bad with kids, per se, but it's suspicious for him that you just so happen to have a variant of his metal powers and were found wandering around outside the Factory.

He suspects Mother Miranda immediately--are you a spy? Another one of her victims? He doesn't know, and until he does you will be fed, clothed, and kept at arm's length.

Once he confirms your lack of involvement in her schemes, he engages with you a lot more.

Initially, just kind of baffled by the fact you don't emote, but upon further thought he totally gets it. Emotions suck, man. You don't gotta express more than you have to around him, he's cool with it.

He's more used to being a Fun Uncle rather than a dad (he's totally helped Alcina's daughters sneak out and cause mischief before this), so he only vaguely knows that you should probably have a bedtime, regular meals, and a social circle? He'll halfheartedly try to enforce stuff, but if you push back at all he just let's it go.

He, uh, will also let you help him mess around with corpses for the soldats? Definitely not age appropriate, but still, he wants to share his passion with you and teach you a little bit about metalwork.

One day, he does a little metal bending trick in front of you and makes you a flower, just to show off. Your eyes just LIGHT UP and the tiniest little smile shows up on your face, and when you reach your hands out to grab it--

Something deep in his chest just seized up all of a sudden. Shit, that's cute.

Shit, does that mean he's attached??? FUCK, WHEN DID HE GET ATTACHED??

[taechaos]

New Idea

pairing: Step-brother!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

warnings: non-con, bondage, pseudo-incest, sadism, smut, mentions of killing

synopsis: You wished to hang out with your brother Taehyung when he wasn't home, only to realize he was better off staying away.

word count: 3.2k

It was late at night. Rain flooded outside, drops trickled down your window and puddles formed on the roads as they reflected the neon lit storefront signs beautifully. The tears from the clouds splashed against the cement loudly, and you watched the empty streets in boredom. With your cheek leaning on your palm, elbow propped up on the round wooden table across your window, you miserably yearned to feel some sort of sugar rush with a deep frown on your face. Things have been mundane, repeating the same old routines as days quickly went by. You wondered what Taehyung had been up to in the time that he’d been gone. You knew he could resolve your boredom instantly had he been right beside you.

Taehyung – your step-brother who was the embodiment of adrenaline, and was most likely awake with you right now. The man never slept, always staying up at night brainstorming ideas for what to do during the day that was no doubt just as exciting as the day before. Bags adorned his eyes that somehow fit his wild persona that never needed asking for permission to do things that were illegal most of the time. It was especially daring when having strict parents, and the only reason he wasn’t locked up in a mental institution was because he was the pride of your family with excelling grades in college that he rarely ever attended. They never approved of anything he’d done, especially not the teal hair he was currently rocking. You on the other hand, looked up to him as a role model.

What you’d do to see him right now. Sometimes he tagged you along with his adventures, such as exploring abandoned buildings and getting matching tattoos on your forearms that he chose. Despite the rebellious acts he put you through, he always defended you against your parents and got away with everything with a light scolding from his smooth tongue. Admiration wouldn’t begin to describe the amount of respect you had for him, though he was rarely ever around. Unbeknownst to you however, he never failed to go a day without pecking your cheek while you were unconscious. 

He was everything you aspired to be: a carefree soul with a creative mind and a heart filled with exhilaration. The only thing he hadn’t done was probably murder. It was a shame that absence made the heart grow fonder, because throughout the time you’d known him since your early teens, he hadn’t changed one bit with his disappearances that could go on for days. 

Taehyung never changed.

Was this what they called depression? Feeling numb and hating your life for how ordinary it was? You didn’t know, but what you knew was that you really needed Taehyung right now. It was 3AM and your parents were sound asleep in the apartment while you moped over how much you missed your step-brother’s presence. Not a single moment was dull with him, while you were too much of a coward to go through with any of your desires.

And as if your prayers were answered, a pound came on the door. The loud knock instantly gave away the person behind the door; Taehyung, who never cared for how loud he was unless he was on a stealthy mission.

Your heart skipped a beat as the door swung open and the silhouette of your step-brother entered before it was slammed shut with a lock. “You’re awake?” he asked in a whisper without moving an inch when he noticed your seated form.

“Can’t sleep,” you breathed, unable to hide the joy you felt upon seeing him in your tone. He couldn’t have picked a better time to visit you.

“Why not?” he walked over to you before kneeling. There was a smile on his face that matched yours, instantly giving away he came to your room with purpose. It was expected, for he never approached you if not to tell you about one of his newer ideas. 

“Was bored.”

“So was I,” a mischievous smirk graced his face. The street lights outside illuminated his messy hair that your hand itched to ruffle. “But I found us a solution.”

Your eyes gleamed with hope, your grin never faltering. “Tell me,” you impatiently urged, your knees already bouncing up and down with excitement.

“I’ll give you a hint: we’ll both be having fun. But you need to listen to me,” he cautioned with a raised finger. You nodded frantically, willing to do whatever he needed you to do. “Okay, stand up.”

You obeyed him and only then noticed the bag slung over his shoulder once you stood before him. “Let me do all the work, yeah? You just stand still.”

“I really want to know what it is,” you whined and bounced on your feet. 

Taehyung held onto your tits that bounced with you and you quietly gasped. “Better not be acting like this with anyone other than me. Naughty,” he scolded before unzipping his small pouch. 

“I don’t go out without a bra,” you rolled your eyes playfully. Taehyung was notorious for doing and saying things without a filter, uncaring of the effect it had on others. This was simply him looking after you without any boundaries, because he never set any with you.

He pulled out a duct tape from the mystery bag. “Turn around and hold your hands behind you.” You complied without protest, the ripping of a duct tape resounding in the room as he tore it with his teeth. He taped your wrists together like cuffs before facing you again by the pull of your shoulder. 

Confusion washed over you, but not a trace of fear. “What’s this about?”

“Now go lie down,” he ignored you and nodded at your bed. You sat on the center, your sheets already rumpled from all the tossing and turning you’d done in an attempt to sleep. His figure loomed over you and your heart raced in anticipation. “Don’t move, okay?”

You silently watched him with piqued curiosity as he pushed you down. The soft mattress dipped under your weight and you didn’t move a muscle until you felt him tug at your flannel pajama pants. “Taehyung? What are you doing?”

“Just trust me,” he ignored you again and you furrowed your brows as he undressed you. “You’re going to like it.”

Without a single clue of his intentions, you expected him to change your pants after he took them off, but definitely didn’t expect him to aim at your panties next. The second he held onto the hems, you crawled away from him and repeated more firmly, “Taehyung, what are you doing?”

He yanked you back to him by your ankles. “Don’t you trust me? You said you’d listen to me.” 

“I don’t think I want to do this,” you strained and tried to pull your knees to your chest, but he tightened his grip on your ankles.

“It’ll be fun, just sit still,” he spoke airily, his tone unbothered compared to your worried one. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Once you felt somewhat reassured, you relaxed your legs and lied back down. The discomfort swallowed you whole when he undressed your bottom half completely. The chilly air hit your bare legs and left goosebumps in its wake.

“You shouldn’t be shy about being naked with me,” he chuckled and tapped your pussy carelessly. You yelped and bent your knees again. 

“Taehyung, this isn’t right,” you stressed and clenched your thighs together. You were growing wary about this ‘idea’ and you weren’t sure whether his pupils were dilated because of the dark anymore. He could be high. “Let’s try something else, please.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he scoffed and spread your thighs apart, hovering over your loins. “You’re going to love this, just calm it.” He grabbed the duct tape again and tore off a smaller piece before placing it on your mouth, making your efforts of leaning away fruitless. Your voice was muffled behind the sticky tape as you shook your head. “Don’t make me tape your legs too,” he warned as you tried pushing him away. He sat on your knees as he began unzipping his washed denim jeans, ignoring your babbling.

“Been watching a lot of porn lately,” he began casually as tears brimmed in your eyes. “I usually find it boring, but I came across a video that I couldn’t resist reenacting. Plus you were bored too,” he defended, “it’d be mean if I spared my little sister of this fun.” 

You didn’t know whether he was joking or not, but you were ready to start crying if he was actually doing what you were thinking. You sighed in relief when he reached for his pouch for a pair of scissors. It had to be a joke then–

Taehyung began cutting your shirt from the middle, and you whimpered when your tits were on full display. Your nipples hardened as a result of the exposure, and tears immediately began streaming down your face mixed with muffled sobs.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” he exclaimed, “we’re not related by blood. It should be fine.”

When you continued crying, he said, “I’ll take off my shirt too, if it helps.” He heaved his t-shirt over his head, his firm chest hard to make out in the midnight dark. “I was thinking kissing would ease you into it, but only if you’re quiet.” Your cries grew louder instead. He sighed exasperatedly, “You can be such a crybaby sometimes.”

He started leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck, and you whimpered at the feeling. You were ticklish and though you were completely terrified, the kisses were a bit soothing. “This is me being nice to you, because oh boy, that guy in the video was a fucking monster,” he laughed while going down the valley between your breasts. A finger flicked your nipple while his other hand rubbed over your folds. “Want me to eat you out first? You’re not wet enough.”

You shook your head in refusal, so he merely shrugged and began circling your clit instead, his fingers now pinching your nipple. His mouth latched onto your other nipple and he swirled his tongue around the areola, clashing pleasure with pain. The rain drowned out your involuntary moans but Taehyung caught them anyway; it wasn’t hard to miss when your arousal began coating his hand. He released your nipple with a pop and locked eyes with you. “You’re enjoying this? Not gonna lie, I was expecting you to cry longer but... you're a little slutty, aren't you?” He slapped your pussy experimentally and smiled when you moaned loudly. “Keep this up and I might just take off the tape.”

For a moment, he wondered if this was why people enjoyed sex so much; your moans were like music to his ears and your body was making his cock throb even more. He could really get used to this, he thought as he slapped your pussy over and over, the sound echoing in the room along with your high-pitched whines.

“Shit, I need to record this,” he mumbled before reaching for his phone on his back pocket. Your protests went to deaf ears as he began recording your pussy and spanked it, the microphone picking up all your sounds of pleasure. Once it reached the one-minute mark, he threw his phone on your pillow and took out his erect length from its restraints, giving it a few pumps as the tip oozed with pre-cum. “I never thought fucking you would be this easy. Thought about it every time I touched myself.”

You went quiet at the revelation and he smirked at your raised brows. “Why are you surprised? Whenever I’m home, you come hug me with your bare tits pressed up against me. Not that I’m complaining of course,” he chuckled hotly. “Want me to kiss you now?”

When you didn’t respond quickly enough, he ripped the tape off of your mouth without mercy and your eyes teared up at the pain with an ouch. He didn’t waste a second in enveloping his lips with yours as he cupped your pussy, smearing his pre-cum on your labia. He swallowed your moans as his mouth moved vigorously, tongue meeting yours as he explored your cavern. The smacking of your lips caused you to clench your hole, the sound arousing to your ears as you kissed him back.

“You going to stay quiet for me?” he murmured against your lips, his cock poking at your hole teasingly. You hesitated but nodded nonetheless. “Good girl,” he praised with a grin and lightly pecked you before properly positioning himself.

The reason why Taehyung was so eager to have sex with you wasn’t just because he was horny, but also because really wanted it to be your pussy that he fucked first, and maybe second, and third. He was a virgin who watched too much porn when he wasn’t outside, and now that you were 18, he thought it to be the perfect timing for you to lose your virginity to him like he’d imagined when he was 15. 

Due to his experience, he didn’t ease into your pussy and instead shoved his cock entirely. You screamed and he instantly put a hand over your mouth. “Too much?” he asked with a strained voice. His cock was just begging to be thrusted into you, but he couldn’t have you screaming and waking your parents. When you nodded with eyes shut in pain, he groaned to himself. He was twitching inside you, and after a few seconds, he began moving.

You were crying and bitching again, but he paid no mind to it as he pressed his hand onto your mouth while gently slamming his hips into you, his courtesy for now. You'd adjust sooner or later, but the stretch was excruciating; your walls stung and you started to bleed on him.

"Oh fuck," he giggled sadistically once he noticed the crimson fluid, "that didn't happen in the video." He gazed into your glossy eyes before quickening his pace, growing rougher. "You're crying again; what's new?"

Taehyung was laughing as he was moaning, but you couldn’t hear anything except for the ringing in your ears. Your heart pounded and you were struggling to breathe through your nose as he fucked you relentlessly. 

“I kind of feel bad for you,” he panted with a sinister smile. “Does it still hurt?” He took your sobs as a yes. “Poor baby,” he cooed with a pout before moving his free hand to your clit. “This might help.” You were struggling with your bound hands, but you couldn’t move your legs because of how much it hurt. Your fighting was useless, and your body was growing numb except for the thumb that made it less painful.

Taehyung removed his hand from your mouth to hear your moans clearly. Whether it was from pleasure or pain, he didn’t know, but he loved it. He wanted to be the only one to see you in this state. He’d gauge out any eyes that got to see you naked and stab any ears that got to hear your pretty sounds.

But it was a little difficult to savour it when he was reaching his climax so soon; damn inexperience and the low stamina that came with. He had enough self-control to pull out of you to finish himself off with his hand. He missed the warmth and tightness of your pussy and how it kept clenching down on him quickly, but it had to come at a cost – not cumming inside you.

“You fucking monster!” you yelled hoarsely, eyes blurred with tears and face covered in tears.

“Too loud,” he sighed and forced your mouth open to shove his length inside. “Try anything, and I’ll fucking kill you.” His cock was heavy on your tongue as you gagged on it every time he thrusted. It wasn’t long before he released in your mouth and you choked, swallowing his cum without a choice. Another loud moan erupted from him as his hips stuttered while gently slamming into you for the last time.

“Fuck,” he exhaled before collapsing on you with his palms holding up to not smother you completely. “Shit, you’re such a good fucking girl.”

When he raised his face from your shoulder, you spat on him. He laughed hysterically before wiping off your saliva from his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, damn.”

“You’re the fucking worst Taehyung,” your voice wavered as you insulted him. “I hope you rot in hell. I always saw you as my role model, but now I understand why everyone fucking hates you.”

“Sheesh,” he snorted, “I told you I’d make it up to you, didn’t I? It might hurt now, but it’ll feel a lot better when we do it again.”

“If you try-” he cut you off by going down on you, taking his clit into your mouth and immediately emitting a moan out of you. “Stop, stop, stop,” you chanted in gasps, trapping his head with your thighs and contradicting your words. He chuckled against your swollen pussy, making it feel even better and yet worse. This euphoric sensation wasn’t what you needed after being traumatized by your own step-brother, but it was what your body wanted after getting a taste of his tongue. 

He was slurping up your juices and spitting on your folds before abusing your clit again. The bastard knew how to distract you from your newfound grudge, but you weren’t going to forgive him after your orgasm. Your hips moved against him on instinct as his tongue ran up and down your labia. A knot formed in your stomach, your tears long forgotten as you became more persistent in riding him in this awkward position. He heaved your thighs over his shoulder to take full control, and with his vigorous sucking and pulling, you came undone with a spasm.

“Feels good, right?” he asked rhetorically and fell limp next to you.

“I’ve never hated someone as much as you,” you seethed while recovering from your high.

“You’re going to tell me that wasn’t fun? No way,” he stared at you in disbelief.

“You hurt me,” you sniffled and covered your face.

"I'm sorry princess," the nickname felt foreign on his tongue as he held your arm. "I'll leave forever if you want me to."

He hummed when you stayed silent with a runny nose. "I'll clean you up and go, okay?"

"No," you huffed. "You become my slave for a whole month."

"You want me to stay home with you?"

You nodded while rubbing your eyes with your fists. "You can't do that and just leave, and I hate you but I miss you."

Taehyung resisted the urge to squeeze your cheek and coo. He knew you'd regret asking him to stay, but he wouldn't say no to spending time with you 24/7.

Chuckling through his nose, he said, "I miss you too." He traced the tattoo on your forearm, a minimalistic mockingbird with an arrow slicing through the middle. He picked it because it represented you; an innocent little thing who didn't even look down at her wound, only focused on flying back to Taehyung, a hawk that waited with open arms - ready for his meal.

If you wanted him to stay, then that's what Taehyung would do. You'd fallen for his trap twice, the third wouldn't be so bad. He'd make sure you enjoyed it this time.

[chrisevansgoodgirl]

if you’re going crazy, just grab me and take me

summary: after the worst year with this fucking family, Ransom proposes on ❄️ chrstmas eve  ❄️ it obviously doesn’t go over as well as his emotionally-stunted ass thought it would.

warnings: every god damn word in this thing is a problem. rough smut. choking, anal, hair-pulling, biting, this shit makes the first chapter seem light, i’ll just say that. a lot of fighting. verbal and physical. there’s some fluff but don’t let ransom trick you like he’s obviously tricked me.

word count: this shit is almost 25,000 fucking words 😂😂😂. i dead ass kept being like why the fuck am I taking so long to post this? Then I saw the word count and I 😳🤭🤗😂 someone pls tell me i did not just devote 25,000 words to exposing myself as a weak ass hoe for Ransom. pls tell me this is a fever dream. i can’t.

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

a/n: holy fuck, am i a disaster. i apologize, i kept falling asleep and wow, i’m just confused about my entire process for writing this bc it was abnormal af.

part one: x part two: x (however, you don’t really need to read them to understand this mess? pretty sure.)

Christmas Eve:

It somehow felt that the entire hellscape that you were currently living in had simultaneously transpired yesterday but also years ago. That was the common feeling one was left with in times of so much exposure to Thrombeys. It was a whirlwind, but there were the good moments, and then the really bad moments, but then the kind of fun moments… It was a rollercoaster, honestly. One you had incorrectly believed you could cope with.

Meg and Joni had called you in a panic from the ski lodge they’d gone to in Canada. There was talk of stopping all flights, how were they going to get home? And lord, what about their home? Were they really supposed to stay there? Since being cut off, Joni had made some career moves that were smart, but she still had to scale back. They were in a much smaller place than before, one that was only temporary—Joni claimed as much about one million times while signing the papers for it.

Jacob had been the next to call, a hysterical Donna could be heard in the background. They had also been moving into another home because of financial issues. You weren’t sure what the ploy was with having Jacob call. Out of everyone in the family, he was the one you spoke to the least, maybe in competition with his irritating mother. Perhaps that had been the angle, were you really going to leave them isolated with their possibly murderous son in such a small house in an unknown neighborhood?

The answer was no. You weren’t going to leave out any Thrombeys. The Drysdales, on the other hand… You had made your terms quite clear. So, with the news of a quarantine sweeping across the country, these overprivileged people flocked to the house they had once called their own. But it was your house now, and that meant it was well within your right to exclude Linda and Richard.

The night you had told Ransom about it was…quite a night.

March: the arrival,

Your grand idea was to deliver the news quickly, over a drink when he was in the best mood he could be. You casually told him that Joni and Meg would be arriving first, then Walt, Donna, and Jacob.

He stared for a long time before simply stating, “I will not let them in the house.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ransom—”

He leaned forward, slamming his glass down on the table between you. “It’s not happening.”

You arched an eyebrow. Was he trying to be intimidating? Oh, you would be just terrified if you were an elderly author or poor nurse tasked with caring for the mentioned author. Seeing as you were his girlfriend, he was out of luck on that.

“I will lock the doors,” he declared, standing to place his hands on his hips. “Not one of those assholes is getting in here. You understand me?”

Instead of answering, you grabbed your drink and returned to the magazine in your lap. That was probably Ransom’s greatest source of irritation, when you decided you were done with the dramatics and ignored him.

He scoffed. “The fact that you think this is happening… It just goes to show—you call me a narcissist, but clearly, you are the narcissist! It takes one to know one!”

It takes one to know one? “Are you five?”

He crossed his arms over his chest.

With a soft sigh, you turned the page. It was silent for several seconds and you weren’t sure if he was trying to build up to something or if he just had nothing else left to try. Whatever it was, you told yourself you were ready for it. How many years was it now? You couldn’t be surprised anymore.

“Are you only with me for sex?”

And you stood corrected. Narrowing your eyes, you looked up at him. “I’m sorry?”

“You clearly don’t care about my feelings—”

“Ransom, seriously, shut up. This is happening, okay? Your family is scared right now, you could try being human. This was their home for a time, of course, they want to be somewhere they feel comfort—”

“No, I’m putting my foot down.”

You rolled your eyes again. “You don’t have a foot to put down. This is my house, too.”

“Too,” he repeated firmly. “Too!”

“Ransom,” you snapped, getting to your feet and throwing the magazine on the table. “Stop acting like a child. They will be here tomorrow. I’m going to bed and if you wanted to join me, that would be great.”

He sat back down, a clear indication that that was not happening.

Things with Ransom, since the last argument, hadn’t been as tense as you thought they would be. Majorly, nothing really changed. Well, sex changed. You guys just weren’t doing that, which was major, because of the rate at which it had been occurring. But other than that, nothing changed. He wasn’t ignoring you, he wasn’t not touching you, there was very simple no sex. At all. But was that something you were okay with? Hell no. It was getting old and you were getting fucking tired of it.

“Fine, if you don’t, just know that I am keeping track.”

“Track?” he narrowed his eyes. “Of what?”

“How many nights I’ve slept without you and how many nights you’ve gone without fucking me.”

“After your last indiscretion, did you really expect anything else? Which you still haven’t apologized for, by the way.”

“Apologize?” you scoffed. “For keeping a fucking vibrator? What do you want me to say, Ransom? Sorry that I have yet to give you total control over my body?”

“That is exactly what I want to hear.”

Without another word, you simply rolled your eyes at him and stormed off to the room you had once upon a time shared with your boyfriend. Not that he officially moved out. In fact, he was still sleeping in there and kept his shit in there. But he was not falling asleep with you nor was he was present when you woke up.

You had no idea what he was doing in there and you were trying to be human, unlike Ransom. Everyone deserved privacy. Besides, he’d made you your sunroom and it afforded him a lot of forgiveness. It was this tiny extension of the house that had huge windows and was just small enough to fit your yoga mat, a couch, and about a billion plants. You read there a lot, you also escaped Ransom a few times. You could understand his desire for an office. But as frequently as he was using it? That was scary.

Admittedly, it was difficult to stay mad at him when you walked through the house that you’d almost now completely rebuilt together. The only exclusion being the office. It had been one of those Harlan rooms that you’d never actually been in prior because you were not family. Weeks ago, you watched Ransom remove everything, add new things, but you still hadn’t been inside. He didn’t so much tell you that it was his own personal room, but it was very clear in how he locked the door. Like, all the time.

You had already been prepping for bed, knowing that the discussion was going to be exhausting. You threw yourself straight into bed, not overly optimistic about the possibility that you were going to fall asleep.

Maybe it was the argument, the mention, the acknowledgment that you guys weren’t having sex. Did he even care? It didn’t seem like it. That caused concern for you. You’d always thought that you would be much older when the two of you would be having no sex. You wondered if things were changing, if your relationship was changing.

Officially, it was hopeless. You were not going to fall asleep. You were just about to get back up when you heard him walking up the stairs, you froze, held your breath, hoped that maybe he wanted to end this. Instead, he walked by the room and to the end of the hall, where said office was.

Fine, fuck him. You just had to get up and moving, there was no shortage of shit you had to prepare. Jacob, though terrible, was family, and a teenage boy. You were going to set him up in a smaller room on the bottom floor. Harlan usually had live-in staff stay in that room if they ever fell on hard times. You figured he would enjoy the privacy. Walt might even enjoy not sleeping in the same room as the next Ted Bundy.

Meg’s room was the most used since she stopped by on weekends sometimes when Ransom was gone for the day or stayed out late. They always met in the kitchen when morning came to argue and give you a headache, however.

She probably needed towels in the bathroom. She might even end up wanting different sheets. Jacob would need more sheets. Was there a color you should give him in the case that the little psycho killed someone, if you wanted to prevent stains? Joni’s room had been cleared out except for major furniture so you wanted to get that set before the morning. You had intended to set all of this up at some horribly early hour, but you were too annoyed to try sleeping. What better time than now?

Did you even have food? You would probably need to go to the store in the morning. You would make a careful list and ensure that no one would need to leave the house again because you were not going to let one of these rich idiots get you sick. Food, sheets because as you were walking through the linen closet, you discovered that you didn’t have really any sets of sheets. Then, you would need laundry detergent, fabric softener. Not all the rooms had pillows—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Ransom found you madly scribbling on a notepad in the center of Joni’s room. You didn’t bother to look at him when you answered, “Making a shopping list.”

“May I ask what for?”

“We have no sheets or pillows or food…or really anything, Ransom. Are we fucking vampires?”

He sighed as he made his way to you. “Okay, it’s time for bed.”

“Go away if you’re not going to be helpful.”

“No, get up now.” But he was met with nothing but silence. Instead of trying another round of verbal communication, he effortlessly grabbed your arms and picked you up.

“Ransom!”

He abruptly took your face in his hands. “They’re lucky they even get to be here. You’re not doing a single thing for these people.”

“Stop, okay? This is our house, we have to have these things—”

“No, you stop. Stop trying to do anything for them because no matter what, they’re going to complain.”

You glared. “Are you trying to help? Just go back to your stupid office and leave me be.”

He arched an eyebrow at you. “It is time for bed. I’m taking you to the room—”

“I’m just going to sneak out as soon as you leave for your office, so don’t waste my time or yours—”

He abruptly threw you up over his shoulder.

“Ransom!” you shrieked in absolute panic, he had never done this. Dragged you kicking and screaming? Yes. Literally pulled you along the floor by your legs? Yes. This? No, not once.

He was quick to get to the room, worried about how exactly you would react, what you were willing to do to make him drop you. He tossed you down on the mattress.

“You’re such an ass! I have to—”

He silenced you by pulling off his T-shirt.

So, he interrupted you because he wanted to have sex? After he had been withholding it? You feigned an unbothered expression. “Ransom, fuck off.”

He scowled. “Why did I have to find you? Why did life bring you to me? Personally, the meaningless fucking was fine for me, a lot less trouble.”

You scoffed. “Do you think I like being with you?! You’re the worst person I’ve ever fucking met, possibly the worst person on this fucking planet!”

He rolled his eyes. “Get on your knees.”

“You are not serious.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re seriously fucking insane, but you’re not serious in that you actually think that’s going to happen!”

“Get. On. Your. Knees. You can do it on your own or I can do it for you.”

You weighed your options. You wanted to have sex with your boyfriend, you wanted to be close to him. However, if he left you after you sucked him off, you might end up killing him. But what could you do? Ransom was apparently in a mood.

Whatever theatrics that were going to occur tonight were already planned, you realized. If he was going to walk away, he was going to walk away. No amount of arguing or any other behavioral tactics were going to change that. You would hit him, you were sure of that, but at least you could get back to making your home presentable.

You reached back for a pillow and gave him a challenging look. He arched an eyebrow at you as you slowly jumped off the bed, laid your pillow at his feet and got to your knees.

“The fuck is this? You suddenly a princess?”

“I’ve always been a princess,” you declared. “One day, a wonderful man or woman, who’s going to give me an even bigger house, is going to know it.”

He glared. “What the fuck is your problem? Do I need to start paying you to keep your mouth shut?”

You snorted. “You have money?”

And that was, apparently, a line crossed for Ransom. Furiously, without another word, he yanked his pants open and shoved them down with his boxers.

Instead of staring at his cock in front of your face, you looked up at him.

He sighed. “Y/N, suck my cock.”

You shrugged. “Why?”

He took himself in one hand and grabbed your hair in the other. He brought your mouth to the head of his cock and waited patiently. You did nothing, simply kept your gaze on him. Rolling his eyes, he pulled at your hair.

You attempted to keep your lips clamped but he continued yanking until you opened your mouth to cry out. Then, without hesitation, he shoved his cock down your throat. You gagged instantly, hands snapping up to shove at his thighs. He wouldn’t budge, he kept you there no matter how hard you tried to push him away—which, admittedly, since you were so wet, wasn’t very hard—or how many times you gagged.

His free hand touched your cheek. “You’re fucking beautiful like this.”

He could fuck off—as soon as he was done coming, you would walk away. You didn’t even want to be fucked by him anymore. But sadly, you had missed the taste of him, the feel of his skin on your tongue.

When he finally pulled you off his cock, you gasped for air. Then, once again, he was thrusting back in. You were choking on him, eyes watering, throat burning, drooling, sniffling, hands begging to be let up again with how hard they gripped his thighs.

But Ransom only let you off when he wanted. The second time, he allowed you to try to catch your breath. Your head was spinning since you were not quite getting oxygen back fast enough. You were blinking away those tiny black spots appearing behind your eyes. He used one hand to wipe away the tears on your cheeks and whatever was falling down your chin.

Then he was bringing you down once more. Holding you in place, he began fucking your mouth slowly, gently, two words that normally did not apply to Ransom. He took his time, he wanted you aching and craving him, and you really fucking were. You thought you wouldn’t feel a thing if he walked away after thing, but now, you knew you were going to set that office on fire if he tried it.

As he neared his end, he grew noisier. You liked that about Ransom, he didn’t hold back due to some insane fragile masculinity thing—no, that was often displayed in less conventional ways. He liked fucking you and he liked letting you know.

He picked up speed eventually, paying no mind to the sounds of you choking every time he thrust in a tad too hard. You didn’t even care, you knew you would be soaking wet, if you just reached down and felt…

He yanked you down when he was coming, buried deep in your throat, reveling in the feel of your throat moving around him, trying not to choke, trying to breathe. “Don’t make a mess, baby, swallow everything I’m giving you.”

You tried, really, you were not just playing your usual game of disobedience. But he really was choking you, so when you tried to swallow, things did not go according to plan. You gagged, nothing was swallowed. A mess you did create. On him, the floor, yourself, the pillow.

Ransom pulled you off and then grabbed your arm to haul you up. His hand still in your hair, he forced you to look up at him, bending your neck back almost uncomfortably. You were still struggling with lack of oxygen and just about fell into him completely, clearly being bratty was not on your mind.

He waited patiently, as if he wanted an explanation. No, you did not intend to do the opposite of what he had told you, but you weren’t about to let him know that. “Baby,” he cooed. His hand slid up from your arm to your neck where some of his cum was sliding down toward your chest. “What was what?”

“Out of practice, I guess. It’s been months since you’ve touched me.” Okay, it had just barely been two months yesterday, but if he could be dramatic, you were allowed as well.

He arched an eyebrow. “Considering you only need to say one word to me, I don’t think you really want it that bad.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

His expression fell. He had hoped you would desperately blurt out an apology, clearly. Without another word, he shoved you onto the bed.

You stared up at him, face composed. “Don’t you have an office to be in?”

“You seem very jealous of that office, baby.”

“Why would I be? I finally get to be away from you.”

He leaned forward and grabbed your shorts and panties. The way he ripped them off you was damn near violent. You both wanted something rough tonight. “Then why is your pussy wet?”

You shrugged. “Couldn’t be for you. I can’t remember the last time you made me come.”

He leaned over, slowly crawling his way up your body.

Without prompt, you reached between your bodies and pulled your shirt over your head, arching a little more than necessary.

He took your forearms and pinned them to the bed. “Tell me how bad you need me.”

You shook your head. “I don’t.”

“I’m not joking.”

“I’m not joking,” you countered. “I. Don’t. Need. You.”

He took your jaw in one hand, forcing you to meet his stare. “Y/N, seriously.”

He really wasn’t joking, but again, neither were you. “Ransom, if you walk out before you fuck me, I will leave you. Do you understand me? I’ll fucking disappear, and you will never ever see me again.”

He smirked. “I understand.”

“I need you,” you breathed, free arm sliding around his shoulder, clinging tight. “I really fucking need you. I need you inside me. You know it’s been too long.”

Smiling like he just won the lottery, he rolled onto his side a little, turning your hips with him. “Yes,” he agreed. “Too long, baby, I’m sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t. You felt his tip at your entrance and you held your breath. He was a dick, yes, but you had been absolutely starving for his touch, his attention.

He pressed inside and it stung almost as bad as it had the first time. You turned your head away, hand pressed to your mouth to keep quiet. You hadn’t noticed your eyes were filled with tears until he touched your cheek and you blinked in surprise. You weren’t sure what you were crying about, the pain or the relief of finally feeling him.

You kept yourself turned from him, hoping he would just drop it. Of course, he wouldn’t. Of course, the one time you were willing to give Ransom a pass to be a complete ass, he wouldn’t want to take it.

“Sorry, baby girl,” he cooed. He had stopped, letting you adjust to him. However, Ransom didn’t have an ounce of patience and you knew his restraint was slipping. “I’m sorry, I’ll make it better.”

You also knew he wasn’t sorry. You squeezed your eyes shut until he was buried inside you. Feeling so full was something you had missed but feeling wanted was what you had been longing for. He could say the words, he could give you lingering looks when you were wearing a dress or a tight top, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t convince you like when he just grabbed you and used you to satisfy every sick desire he had.

He grabbed your face and forced you to turn back but your eyes were shut. Instead of trying to get you to look at him, he kissed you. His lips moved over yours until you were finally curling into him, his arm wrapped around your back and pinned you against him.

Intimate, close, slow, but so fucking hard, that was how he made you come the first time. There were no words, just grabbing each other, gasping into the kiss, biting one another’s lips, tongue and teeth, scratching nails, pulling hair. He watched your face as you were coming down, hips still snapping up, fingers brushing along your cheeks.

He rolled onto his back and brought you with him. You hissed at the ache of this new angle, using your knees to pull off just a little. He took your hands and set them to the headboard. The way he stared up at you, like he was worshiping every inch of you, it made your skin burn.

“Ride me,” he ordered.

Hands gripping the bed, your hips began to roll. Ransom stared the whole time, where his cock was disappearing inside you, your moving breasts, your gorgeous, soft body. He used one hand to pinch your nipples alternatively and the opposite hand to focus solely on your clit.

You were breathless, shaking, chasing after that climbing high. You let the headboard go in favor of grabbing his hands, dragging them up to circle around your neck. As he began to apply pressure, you continued bouncing on his cock, unashamedly screaming now that he was stifling the noise.

Watching your eyes fill with tears, hearing those strangled sounds tear from your throat, it was enough to get him there as soon as your cunt started to tighten. He was coming with you, squeezing your neck tighter, so tight you tried to pull his hands off you.

But it was futile, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He threw you down, rolling over so he was on top of you. You wrapped your legs around him, spreading your thighs and taking him in deeper.

He set one hand to the mattress to hold himself up but kept his other hand on your neck. He leaned over, forehead pressing to yours, breathing hotly against your skin. “Say it again.”

“Say what?” you choked out.

“You know.”

You always knew. He had only asked you for this one other time since you’d said it that first night. You stopped caring that he was probably never going to say it back. “I love you.”

His hips finally stilled. You weren’t sure what his response was going to be, but you knew what it wasn’t going to be. Yes, you’d stopped caring, but were you okay with it? You weren’t entirely convinced. But what were you going to do? Leave Ransom? That seemed highly unlikely.

So, you decided to speak before he could. “Even though you’re a fucking loser.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “And I guess you’re hot enough to keep around even if that mouth annoys the hell out of me.”

That, you suspected, was as close as he was going to get to ever stating his feelings for you. “Are you going to let me get back to my list?”

He rolled his eyes. “No. Not done yet.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Really? You lasted, like, three minutes—”

He gave you a sharp look. “Must be my age, I guess I’ll need a minute before I can go again. But you, baby girl,” he grabbed one of your hands and brought your fingers up to his lips.

You watched closely as he kissed every knuckle before he brought your hand down and pressed your first two fingers to your clit. You shuddered. “Ransom, wait—”

“Since you like getting yourself off so much, you’re going to—”

You sighed. “Ransom, please—”

“And I’m going to watch until I’m ready to fuck you again.”

You pouted up at him. “You said it was time for bed.”

“I changed my mind.” He pulled your legs from around him and sat back to watch you. He pulled one thigh further from the other and gave you an expectant look. “I wasn’t asking, baby.”

For what felt like the first time in years, you were woken up by your boyfriend with his hand between your legs. You were laying on his chest, he was kissing the top of your head, tracing patterns along your spine and just barely teasing your clit.

All he needed to know was that you were awake and then had you pinned underneath him before you could say a word. Last night was nice but now the sun was shining through the blinds and you could see all of him. The freckles on his skin, the fine lines around his mouth because he does actually smile even if he doesn’t want anyone to know. And all his muscles—ugh.

“Good morning,” he said softly.

You smiled. “I have to get up and start getting ready.”

“No, baby. The only thing you need to do is open your legs so your boyfriend can fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

“Oh, deserve?” you scoffed. “I always deserve to be fucked. What changed your mind?”

He shrugged his shoulder. “Does it matter?”

Few things did when it really came down to your relationship with Ransom. It was all one huge give-and-take and neither of you shied away from taking advantage of that lack of communication.

He kept you there for nearly half an hour, insisting that you give him just one more finish, but he’d done that nearly four times. The reason you were able to escape was that there was someone at the door. As Ransom when to see who it was, you ran for the shower.

You were surprised when he joined you. One of your favorite things in your entire relationship was taking showers with Ransom, but it rarely happened. Whether that be because you were always on a time limit when you were getting ready or because he woke up later than you.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“I miss taking showers with you, you’re warm.”

He turned to kiss your cheek. “You going shopping?” he muttered against your skin.

“Yeah, we don’t have anything either. We’re out of your favorite cookies, you know.”

He hummed. “Okay, just be safe. Wear a mask and try not to touch anything you don’t have to. Put everything in the back of your car, I put hand sanitizer in there so use it before you touch anything inside.”

You scoffed as you looked back, eyebrow arching. “You sound scared.”

He shrugged. “Well, you know… I just don’t want you to get sick.”

You smiled a little.

“Because I don’t want to have to take care of you.”

“Ugh, Ransom!” You brought your hand up to flick his forehead, but he caught your wrist and used the opposite hand to turn you around.

His arm slid across the small of your back and he picked you up to walk you to the shower wall. He pinned you against it completely, the shower head was almost directly over the two of you. Instead of attempting to watch him, you closed your eyes and pulled him into a kiss by his hair. He angled his hips up and easily thrust inside you.

Your mouth dropped and you gasped, he used that as his chance to bite down on your lip. You were sore between your legs, but the ache was a reminder that Ransom had put aside his pettiness because he had wanted you so badly. You brought your leg up to hook around his hip and used that as your leverage as you began to roll your hips.

He shuddered and bit harder on your lip still trapped between his teeth. He only let it go so he could turn down and press his mouth to your shoulder. “Slow baby, fuck me slow.”

You did as he directed. You slid off his cock and then slid back down, using all the restraint you could muster because you couldn’t wait until his broke. You couldn’t wait for him to grab you and take charge.

His hand slid between the two of you and he began pressing down on your clit, just slightly.

“I could kill you, Ransom,” you blurted out. “You better not ever go so long without touching me again.”

He nodded. “I promise, I will not.”

If you had a question about his tone, it died when his hands finally grasped your hips. “Tell me what you want.”

“Hard,” you pleaded. “So hard, please. I want to feel you all day, I want it to hurt until you’re inside me again.”

And goodness, did he make it hurt. He fucked you until you could no longer stand, until you weren’t able to coherently tell him that you weren’t sure you would ever be able to on your own again.

He had to set you on the floor of the tub when he knew it was time to get out. You weren’t sure why, and if you had been in a better mindset, you would have remembered the importance of always asking Ransom questions about his actions. However, all you could do was stay still, a little dizzy, vibrating pleasantly all over.

It somehow felt like hours but only seconds that he left you alone. When he was standing you back up, you still didn’t have the good sense to ask what the hell he was doing, but you absolutely melted when he pulled you from the shower and wrapped you up in a warm towel. A towel that had clearly just come out of the dryer—this man, that he could be so perfect and just chose not to be, deserved to be in jail. Yeah, the murder thing was a strike against him, you guessed, but this? Unforgivable.

When you got back home, there were several cars that you had never seen. Somehow, despite not getting an inheritance, the Thrombeys still knew how to make money. Which just made the whole Harlan thing even more annoying. Why all the dramatics? Rich people didn’t get poor the same way poor people got poorer. It was merely a showing of greed.

But you could not dwell on things like that, otherwise, this whole thing was going to go bad much quicker than you had suspected. You also couldn’t be the one that made it go bad. You weren’t an actual Thrombey or a Drysdale—and never would be since you fell in love with the least committal one of them all. You, despite extending your home and kindness, needed to be a lot more behaved than Ransom.

As you were bringing in the groceries, you glanced at the cars. There were five in total and you shuddered to think Jacob was driving. He was about that age, of course, but still, yikes. Meg and Joni probably showed up separately, which meant Donna and Walt did as well. Okay, weird, but you long ago stopped trying to guess why these people did what they did.

You wrestled with the front door for a moment and the noise of it brought in Joni and Meg. The older woman was completely decked out in crystals, unsurprisingly, you had just read an about how crystal shops were doing particularly well at this time.

“Hey, guys,” you greeted.

“Thank you so much for letting us stay here,” Meg immediately responded, taking some of the bags from your hands.

Joni followed her daughter’s lead. “Yes, honey, let us help you.”

Okay, suspicious. These people rarely did a thing that would constitute as the simplest of work—save for Meg, of course. “Thanks, but Ransom really should be helping me.” You gently pressed the door back with your leg, not shutting it completely but trying to keep the cold at bay. “Ransom!”

“He’s in the kitchen,” Joni informed.

“Great, we can head that way.”

On the walk there, you found Donna and Walt were in what was now one of many family rooms. They greeted you a tad overenthusiastically—regardless, you couldn’t stop, you’d just deal with it later.

“You didn’t need to go shopping for us,” Donna said.

“Oh, it’s fine,” you assured. “We needed a few things, I thought I’d get it done all at once so you guys wouldn’t need to worry about it.”

As if given a cue, they all began to thank you again. Again, you would need to deal with this when your arms were less full and there weren’t about a million bags in the back of your car.

You led the way to the kitchen, Meg and Joni on your tail. “Was the trip over here easy enough?”

“So weird,” Joni claimed. “People are literally going insane. I went to my usual crystal shop before I got here…”

Typical. She proceeded to tell you about how she had an “altercation” with a woman for a tiger’s eye finished into the shape of her animal spirit guide—which you were forgetting at the moment, a swan or something.

You stopped trying to recall those past conversations in case she quizzed you about what your animal was—she had stressed the importance of finding it and you promised you would the next time you saw her—when you saw Richard and Linda sitting at your kitchen table. Ransom was at the counter, a glass of whiskey in hand.

You merely glanced at them before turning to him. There were no words at all for the rage you felt at that moment. Joni had stopped speaking and was working to get the bags she’d taken from you onto a flat surface so she could grab the rest.

“Y/N!” Richard greeted. “Thank you so much for letting us stay here.”

You lifted your eyebrows at Ransom.

“She obviously didn’t know, Richard,” Linda pointed out. “Because she’s been trying to steal my son away since the day that she met him.”

You turned to her. ���Are you—?”

“No, no, no,” Joni interjected. “She didn’t mean that!” She set the last of the bags down and touched your shoulder. “She’s joking!” She turned to Linda. “You’re joking, right?”

“Of course,” Linda claimed, unconvincingly with a smirk that you had come to recognize as smug. Not that you’d seen it much on her, but her son, on the other hand…

Speaking of Ransom, he looked beyond exhausted. Only, he wasn’t, he was just trying to convey that because it was clear that he didn’t intend to have this discussion with you. It never was a discussion, because, for some reason, he made all the excuses in the world for his mother and would obviously choose her over you.

Suddenly, in your mind, things all fell into place. Richard and Linda probably got here after all the others, the rest had been set to get there around noon. He’d kept you in bed to stop you from getting home before them because then you could keep them out of the house, you could have caused a huge scene. Now? It was clear that you were outvoted, the rest of the family probably would have thought of you as unreasonable if you kicked them out now.

Fine, it was all fine. You weren’t going to argue about this, not then. It would give Linda joy to see you have a complete meltdown. Ransom had already humiliated you enough by doing this completely behind your back, you weren’t going to give her anything else.

You turned to the counter to grab his keys. “Well, then you get to go back to the store.” You threw the keys at his chest, probably harder than you should have, and turned to head back out to your car.

It was silent until you exited the room, then Linda felt the need to voice her opinion no one asked for. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t marry her. She’s shopping for essential items the day company was planned to arrive?”

You turned right back around but Meg was there to usher you back outside. She knew you needed a moment of fresh air and a moment away from Linda. Meg was a rather sympathetic person, she understood completely where you were coming from. In her mind, you were right and Ransom was so wrong for what he did, and Linda was wrong as well. But she also told you, this was how this family went. Linda was at the top now that Harlan was gone. If you sincerely wanted to be with Ransom—and she was confused about that—you would have to suck it up.

That much you agreed with, to an extent. It was clear that you were never going to be able to fix these people completely, but you were trying to create boundaries. Linda could not hit your boyfriend, her son. But how was she going to learn that if Ransom didn’t give a damn? She wasn’t.

You were suddenly wishing you’d accepted the invitation from your parents to stay with them until this all settled down. You had been too scared, however, because of the distance that seemed to be growing with Ransom. Now, you just felt like an idiot.

He lied to you. He did this behind your back, and he used intimacy to distract you from his plans, and that was absolutely disgusting. You couldn’t get over that. You felt used, by the one person you’re supposed to be able to trust more than anyone else in the world.

“Meg, can we have a minute?”

You turned away as soon as you heard Ransom off to your side. If you had a minute with him, you would probably murder him.

“Um,” she started, shifting awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” you assured. “Can you start putting away the groceries, please?”

“Yes, I will do that,” she eagerly confirmed. Meg liked to feel helpful, she often felt guilty about her privilege and wanted to be anything but another typical Thrombey. It was refreshing given all the other extreme personalities you would have to be living with for a while.

“I bought enough sheets for every single bed in the house for the next ten years,” you informed. “Those are fine. We’ll just need more food, probably—”

Ransom reached out for your arm, but you jerked away from him.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Hey—”

You finally turned to him. “I am not talking about this. You lied to me, you did this behind my back—”

“She’s my mom—”

“And I’m your girlfriend!” you hissed back. “And I am so fucking tired of this and you. Last night, you had sex with me to distract me so you could fucking sneak your parents in here. Who does that?!”

“That’s not why I had sex with you—”

“Really?” you demanded. No, you wouldn’t be having this talk, it wasn’t happening. Turning away, you sighed, “It doesn’t matter. I’m done talking to you about this, I’m serious. Do whatever the fuck you want, Ransom. That’s what you always do anyway. I’m done caring.”

“Look, we can’t be fighting with these people here—”

“You should have thought about that before you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie—”

“I’m having a really hard time right now not running you over with my car,” you asserted, “So I’m going to go back inside. I just need you to go to the store for me, okay? Please, can you do one thing, literally, Ransom, just one thing to help me feel, like, 10% less stressed about all of this?”

“Okay. Yeah, I’ll go to the store.”

“Great.” You started to pull out more bags from the car.

“Can we talk about this later?”

“I don’t know yet.” Hell no, but you weren’t going to tell him that. With full arms, you stormed around him and back into the house.

Later, when he got home, he discovered that you had moved out of the bedroom. Yes, you had moved your shit to another room, locked it, and acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

April: the parents’ bedroom,

It was six in the morning, you had just failed at finishing your yoga routine due to your pounding headache. You’d thought a smoothie would make you feel much better, but see, that was with the condition that everyone else was still asleep.

Not the case.

Joni and Richard were currently in the middle of a debate about anti-maskers. Joni, surprisingly, given all her healing crystals shit, thought anti-maskers were idiots. Richard, on the other hand, believed this was a free country and people should have the right to choose anything and everything because “that’s America”.

You had a blender full of ingredients and when you finally got to turn it on, it was comparable to an orgasm. If only because you and Ransom were back to a no-touching arrangement. You could barely stand to look at him.

They seemed unbothered by the blender, their argument only getting louder. You went to the cabinet to grab some pills, anything that would make your head feel better. Could anything with these people? You weren’t overly optimistic about that prospect.

You took your place back at the blender, leaning down to fall into the pain of that instead of the politics conversation. They did this often. Last week, it was whether people should vote this November. Prior, it had been traveling bans, canceled events, whether unemployment should be giving people as much as they are. Linda and Walt interjected sometimes, even Meg because she couldn’t remain silent on a few occasions, but you, Ransom, and Jacob all but steered clear of it.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and stood up straight. You didn’t want anyone knowing you weren’t feeling well. Richard and Walt always acted like you were dying, Joni would start with her crystals and lectures about the importance of meditating.

Thankfully, it was just Ransom. He had been out, he was wearing a scarf, a heavy jacket, and his pale cheeks were flushed red. He nodded out of the room and you followed because silence seemed too tempting.

“What is it, Ransom?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I need a reason to speak to you?”

Your eyes fell shut and you pressed your fingers to your temples. He wasn’t being serious right now, was he? He wanted to have a conversation right now? You felt on the verge of death.

He touched your shoulder again. “Are you okay?”

“Just a headache. Not a big deal.”

“Not trying to be an ass—”

You opened your eyes. “But you’re so good at it.”

“I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Ransom,” you sighed, shrugging his hand off.

He caught you before you could turn away. “Hey.”

“Ransom, please, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to talk much either.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He shrugged. “You know I know how to make you feel better when you have a headache.”

You hummed. “Sex? Why? Are you trying to distract me again? Were you hoping I wouldn’t notice your inability to wake up at a reasonable hour for me, but how willing you seem to wake up at 5 in the morning to have coffee with your mommy?”

“I wasn’t asleep,” he insisted. “And she heard me come downstairs.”

“Yes, great cover. So convincing.”

“I do not wake up to have coffee with her every morning. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

You lifted your eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He glared. “It’s because I hate sleeping without you.”

“You made me sleep without you—!”

“That was not what you think!”

You narrowed your eyes. “It wasn’t a temper tantrum over the vibrator?”

“No, okay, stop. We’re not going back, okay? No talk about the past, we need to talk about now. You’re the one that made me promise that I wouldn’t withhold sex—”

“I’m not withholding sex, Ransom, I just have no desire to be around you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Doubt that.”

“If you’re having issues sleeping, maybe you should ask your mommy to read you a bedtime story and—”

He pressed his hand over your mouth and started dragging you across the room.

Immediately, you started screaming at him. What the fuck? And you continued to do this until you realized he was leading you to Richard and Linda’s room. Eww, if you didn’t want to talk to him, you certainly didn’t want to talk to her.

But despite your struggling, he forced you into the room and slammed the door before you could escape.

“What the hell?” you demanded.

“This fight is over.”

“No, it’s not!”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous because I care about you? I’m done, I can’t do this anymore. My parents want me to stay with them and I think I should—”

His eyes widened at you. “This is your god damn house—”

“You clearly don’t think so! I had one condition, just one fucking condition. I wanted her to apologize for trying to physically assault you and somehow that makes me the villain in this situation?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“You went behind my back, Ransom.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

Wow, was that an actual apology? It didn’t matter. One apology a month later was too small. “Look, it’s too late, okay? I’m exhausted and I just want to go home—”

“This is your fucking home!”

“No, it’s your mother’s fucking home and it always will be if you let her do whatever the fuck she wants!”

“She apologized!”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed.

He reached into his pants and yanked out his phone. Easily, he found one of the last texts that they had exchanged and turned it to you.

Don’t tell your psycho, fragile girlfriend but I am sorry. I shouldn’t have acted the way that I did. I understand that it was out of line, it will not happen again. Can we come over? You know I don’t want to be alone with your father.

It took three seconds to go from partially angry to very, absolutely, completely outraged. You smacked the phone out of his hand and it clattered to the hardwood floor. “I’m going to fucking kill you, Ransom!”

He threw his arms up. “For what?!”

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me this earlier?!”

“She would have known that I told you.”

“And?!”

“And,” he began, “I…don’t really know what I thought would happen.”

You shoved at his chest and he didn’t even have the energy to step back simply to make you feel better. He didn’t move an inch because you shoving him was like a cat trying to push a lion. “You are such a fucking mommy’s boy! I’m done with this whole thing, I’m done with you!”

“No, you’re not!”

“Yes, I am! You can’t make me stay here, you can’t make me—”

“You love me!”

Your eyes widened. He made you tell him you loved him, never said it back, and now he was using it against you? “You are dead! Do you understand me?! I’m going to run you over with your fucking Beemer! Then I’m going to get a new boyfriend and I’m going to let him fuck me in that stupid fucking car!”

He grabbed a handful of your hair and your hands flew back to scratch at his forearm. He shoved you back onto the bed and made the mistake of rolling over to attempt to get away from him. He grabbed both of your wrists and managed to get them into one of his hands, then yanked down your yoga pants.

“You are tearing them, you ass!”

And then he smacked your bare skin hard enough that it echoed, loud enough that you were sure anyone in the kitchen could have heard it. Your entire body burned with humiliation, but you loved the pain. How had you survived so long without him doing this?

“Shut the fuck up,” he ordered.

“Are you seriously trying to fuck me in your parents’ room?” you snapped.

“No, I am going to fuck you in my parents’ room,” he corrected. “What? You’re not into this anymore? This wouldn’t be the first time.”

“They sleep here,” you reminded. “This is weird given your obsession with her.”

“I changed the sheets this morning.”

“Are you fucking serious? You’re her maid now?”

He smacked you again and you pressed your face down to muffle your scream. “No, I just always knew that I was going to fuck you here today.”

You waited until the pain subsided before you turned your face, Ransom was still working the yoga pants down, a task that seemed impossible with only one hand. “Where were you today?”

“I had a meeting.”

“With whom?”

“None of your business.”

“Yes, it is my business, you fucking dick! If you’re not going to let me go home—”

He spanked you again, harder now, it seemed like an angry action, not just a retaliating one. “You are home, this is your fucking home and if you suggest otherwise again, I fucking swear—”

“What?” you demanded. “You’re going to tattle to your mommy?”

“I should fucking strangle you,” he growled, and before you could say anything, his hand was at your pussy. He scoffed. “You are seriously this wet? You have so many fucking issues.”

“One issue,” you argued. “You.” But that was a lie and he was more than right. You could hear him moving his pants out of his way and you were nearly shaking with the need to feel him.

Abruptly, he shoved his cock inside you and you both moaned as you adjusted around him. It was loud, obscenely loud, there was no question about what you two were doing, and you honestly didn’t care anymore. Had he gotten bigger? No, that wasn’t possible. You were pretty sure it wasn’t.

You felt him moving to tear off his coat. “Don’t you dare throw that coat on this floor, Ransom.”

But he did and he did it so eagerly, like he wanted to irritate you. The floors were hardwood, Linda had her dogs in the home, and their fur got everywhere on Ransom’s clothes. He hated you, you hated it because he just threw things away—didn’t even donate them because he’s such a beast.

Next, you felt his scarf around your wrists and started struggling.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Shut up,” he snarled.  “You’re lucky I’m not fucking gagging you.”

As his hips began rocking just slightly, he grabbed your jaw and turned your head back. His lips found yours immediately and while you two were sharing a sloppy, unskilled kiss, he began driving his hips into you as hard as he knew you needed him to.

His skin was slapping against yours noisily, the bed was creaking, moving on those extra hard thrusts. He spread your legs out as wide as he could and held them there, fingers digging painfully into your skin.

Things became very clear to Ransom at that moment. You were underneath him, completely at his mercy since you were bound now. You were pouting, pretending that you didn’t like this, and he wanted to fuck that disobedience out of you. He sat back up, holding your hips as he kept steadily moving in and out of you. “I’m going to fuck your ass.”

You blinked once, twice. “What?”

He never pulled out, but he did lean over and start yanking on the drawers of one of the bedside tables.

“What are you doing?” No, he wasn’t going to actually…fuck you there. He’d never done it, he’d never even asked about it even though you brought it up a few times. He’d located your plugs that one time, he knew you were into it. But nothing. Why now?

“I know he has to have something,” he insisted.

“I don’t want to think about your parents like that.”

“Oh, no, just think of my dad like that,” he joked.

You shook your head. “Eww.”

“Oh, eww?” he checked. “Since when? You realize you can never talk about fucking him again, right? Looks like you’re going to have to provoke me in other ways now.”

“I didn’t mean ‘eww’ like that,” you claimed, “I meant ‘eww’ that your mom isn’t fucking him, and I definitely should be, because he totally deserves it for being such a great husband and father, but sadly, I’m here with you instead.”

“You’re such a fucking brat and—got it.” Ransom rarely moved fast, preferring to act like the cocky ass that he was, making it clear that he had all the time in the world to do whatever the hell he wanted. Because you were never going to say no. But now, he was acting like he was in a race.

Your body tensed up as soon as you felt the sharp cold against your skin. Ransom took his fingers and spread the gel over your skin, you gasped when you felt one of his fingers teasing your hole.

He did this a few more times, just making sure that you were properly prepped before his first finger dipped inside you. He set his free hand to your back when you tensed. “Relax,” he ordered. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you assured. You’d done this in the past, liked it, but it had been a long time since.

He started pumping his finger in and out and you began to squirm. You were trying to stay still and quiet, trying to hide how good he was making you feel, but he knew. When you pressed your hips back, he added his second finger and you winced.

His fingers already had you feeling so full. That was what you loved most about being with Ransom, you felt almost incomplete whenever he wasn’t in you. Your body was made to take his, to mold to him completely.

“Here’s how this is gonna go, baby,” he began. “You’re going to start sleeping in our bedroom again. Because I am the only man on this planet who can touch you like this and you’re going to stop being such a brat and taking that for granted.”

You scoffed. You were taking him for granted? Of course, every day you didn’t wake up on your knees for him was probably ‘taking him for granted’.

“Yes?”

You nodded, cheek pressed to the mattress. You didn’t care about winning anymore, you needed to be fucked. You lifted your head to look back at him. “Yeah.”

He pushed his third finger as slowly as he could.

You kept your attention on him, watching as his fingers disappeared inside your ass. As he moved his fingers back and forth, he started to tilt his hips. You were hyperaware of everything, you knew where his cock and fingers were, the wall between your two entrances was thin enough that you could feel it all.

He always thought of you as an insatiable, greedy little thing but even he was surprised when you said you wanted more. You wanted his cock, not his fingers, and he figured you were ready for it because you were soaking his length and the sheets.

As he positioned himself over you again, he pulled his cock out of your pussy and you whimpered. He brought his cock up and spread the fingers inside your asshole to open you up for him. You had never experienced Ransom gentler than when he pressed just the tip of his cock into you. You observed in awe, mouth dropped, panting, desperate, soaking. You knew when you were going to feel him, but you were not prepared at all. His cock was bigger than any plug you had used and you were aching.

He groaned when his fingers were out and all that he could feel was you squeezing the hell out of him. “Fuck. Think you can get on your knees for me?”

You nodded but made no moves to do so. He did instead, lifting your hips, and then grabbing your upper arms to keep you there. You pressed your hips down, swallowing more of his cock, whining and moaning at the painful stretch of him.

“Fuck yourself,” he told you.

You were shuddering, body screaming at the uncomfortable angles you were moving. You pushed your hips up until you felt the head of his cock and settled back down until it felt like it was too much, over and over until he knew that your muscles weren’t capable of continuing.

“Almost there,” he promised, lips at your ear. “Almost taking all of my cock, baby.” He let his hands slide down a little, toward your elbows for leverage, and then he started thrusting. He was careful not to go too deep, listening to the sounds you made because words were not your strong point when he was inside you.

You leaned over a bit, unable to hold yourself up completely. You were hovering over the pillows, his hold on you tight enough that you weren’t worried about falling forward. You were practically choking on a scream when one of his hands moved around you to your clit, immediately feeling lightheaded.

You folded over more and Ransom released your arm to grab your hair. Since you weren’t strong enough to hold yourself up completely, he was yanking on the roots of your hair. Your thighs were quivering because you were using them as your only source of balance, and all of that distracted from the painful stretch of his cock driving into you more and more each time.

Your pleasure was slowly climbing. By the time you were coming, your pussy was dripping onto the sheets, you were sweating, shuddering, gasping for air that you couldn’t seem to get enough of.

And he was only halfway inside you. He shoved two fingers into your cunt and used his grip on your hair to shove your face down on the mattress. All his weight pressed down on you until you were flat on the bed, trapping his arm between you and the mattress.

He left you with some space to work, you rode out your high by fucking yourself on his cock and fingers. You were drowning in the sensations, overwhelmingly full of a man that you knew would eventually drive you crazy.

When your body fell limp, he released your hair and grabbed your hip, guiding you to another devastating orgasm. “You still doing okay, baby?”

For a moment, you could only respond with a moan. His thumb brushed over your clit and you gasped. “Daddy, please, please, please—!”

“You think you deserve it, baby?”

“Please make me come,” you begged.

He waited until you were finishing around his fingers and finally, shoved his cock in completely.

You buried your face in the bed, screaming, sobbing, crying his name. He brought his hand from your hip to your hair, petting and shushing you, and that was all you ever needed from Ransom.

He gave you only seconds before his hips were rolling, his fingers pumping in and out of you, thumb rubbing your clit. He paid no mind to you, he simply used your body, no matter how much you were shuddering and shaking from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

It was almost immediate that he pulled out after he finished and climbed off the bed to pull you with him. Your legs were shaking, but he held you tight to keep you up. He turned your back to him so he could watch his cum drip out of your ass.

When he turned you back to him, he gathered his cum from the inside of your thighs and ran his hand across your mouth. Fucked out, covered in him, you never looked more beautiful.

“This is your home,” he told you. “If you say it isn’t again, you won’t be able to walk for a very long time. Understood?”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m convinced yet.”

Ransom tossed you onto the bed like you weighed nothing and went to the door just to lock it. Was it weird that you thought you might get something out of Linda pounding on the door while her son was absolutely pounding you?

May: the anniversary,

It was Linda and Richard’s anniversary and that meant that everyone living in the house had to celebrate because the Thrombeys were starting to face withdrawals from not receiving enough attention from others.

Joni and Walt had decided to cook dinner that night and it surprisingly did not end in disaster. There were some presents, the family was trying their hand at online shopping and as the days ticked by, more and more packages were showing up every day.

The night was ending with a game of charades, something you and Ransom elected not to take part in beyond watching. The first team was Meg, Walt, and Richard. The second team was Joni, Linda, and Donna, and Jacob was the referee. They needed one, every single game because they were oddly competitive and whenever things got too aggressive, they were given a card, from green to red. Red meant disqualification, you’d only seen it happen twice in all these years, but it was great when it did happen.

You couldn’t help but watch Richard and Linda. They’d been married for so long now, so you didn’t understand why Richard had had his affair when he did. She wasn’t overly young, she had no money, it just didn’t make much sense to you.

You were on Ransom’s lap in the chair in the corner of the room. He had been drinking all night, so you chose not to. You guys were a better team when you were coordinating like that. He was always weird about his parents, you figured that was why he’d been off all day.

“Do you think you could ever forgive someone if they cheated on you?” he asked.

You turned to him, eyebrow arched. “I would murder you.”

He scoffed. “Come on, be serious.”

“I am being serious, Ransom.”

“If I were going to cheat on you, I would have already done it. I meant in a general sense.”

“I don’t think you love someone if you cheat on them,” you reasoned. “So, would I forgive? Maybe, I guess, whatever that even means. But would I stay? Hell no.”

“Right?”

“You talking about your parents?”

“It’s so weird, isn’t it? I mean, not really. Men are men and don’t they all eventually cheat?”

“You are playing with fire having this conversation with me.”

He scoffed. “I just don’t get it, why would she stay?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “It seems like you all have your, like, comfortable environments. You don’t really want to leave them…at least she gave him that killer black eye.”

“Yeah,” he recalled with a small smile. “But…I don’t know, I don’t completely blame him, either.”

“Ransom,” you warned.

“No, I’m not saying it’s my mom’s fault, but…she doesn’t exactly love him either. Maybe he thought she used to.”

“Maybe she did.”

“Yeah, maybe…I don’t know, if you’re blackmailing someone essentially—”

“She’s not blackmailing him.”

“He has no money,” he insisted. “He’s terrified. She holds it over him constantly.”

“Ransom, right now, choose. Me or money?”

He turned to you. “No hesitation, I would choose you.”

You were almost surprised to hear that, you thought…you had always thought you were Ransom’s second love, honestly.

“What? Were you expecting something else?”

“I don’t know.” You didn’t want to make him think you thought so low of him. It was a pretty vile accusation.

“You do, that’s fine…because I do believe that if we didn’t have money, it would tear us apart.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” you argued.

He arched an eyebrow at you. “You love your diamonds and this house. And I like spoiling the hell out of you… I know those are simple things, but to have to work for things? We couldn’t make it.”

“Well, he obviously wasn’t that scared, or he wouldn’t have cheated. That was my point. You’re acting like money is the most important thing, if it was, he wouldn’t have risked it.”

“True. I don’t know if I would be able to deal with it.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and laid your cheek against his. “Ransom, baby, you’re jealous of inanimate objects and you once fucked me every day for a week and didn’t let me come because you thought I was talking to my ex.”

“It depends how it started, that’s all I’m saying. People aren’t perfect, you know.”

“I am,” you declared.

He scoffed. “You let me fuck you while you were dating that ex.”

“You coerced me,” you argued. “I was innocently in my own room and you just showed up—”

“So, you’re saying I seduced you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Can we go to bed? I don’t think there are going to be any fistfights tonight.”

“I’m sorry, baby, I know you were looking forward to that.”

“A bit,” you admitted.

“I’ll tell you about the time my mom tackled Joni at my high school graduation.”

You gasped. “I love when you tell me stories.”

Ultimately, things had gone back to normal with you and Ransom. He was sleeping with you more nights than not, he was in his office much less, things seemed to be in a much better place.

June: the affair,

Until June rolled around.

Then all his office shit started up again, the late nights, the insane number of hours. You tried to be understanding, but then he was abandoning you at family dinners and there was the time some moron rear-ended you and you had to call Walt because Joni and Meg weren’t picking up their phones because it was five in the morning, and Ransom wasn’t either because Ransom wasn’t a reliable boyfriend.

He had been apologetic, and you were just relieved that it had been an overall easy situation, so you didn’t hold it against him. Not until you had to borrow his phone to call yours because you had once again misplaced it. You were, once upon a time, a very organized, together person. Then the Thrombeys moved into your home.

You saw dating apps. Dating apps! On his fucking phone. You had no idea how to react, so you just didn’t. You made the mistake of letting everything grow, everything just pile on top of one another until you were at your breaking point.

Linda liked to poke at you and normally, she couldn’t. Because normally, Ransom was around. Because Ransom knew how his mother was and he knew how you were, and he just didn’t want anyone to end up dead.

That changed one morning when you were making pancakes and she came in for her early morning coffee. She asked where Ransom was and that was really the start of it because she did know. She found it hilarious that Ransom had his own office and never let anyone else in. She hated that she wasn’t allowed in but was placated that you weren’t either.

But you told her where he was anyway because you were attempting to be civil. She pointed out how much time he was spending in his office and you pretended it was common, she then asserted that that was how Richard was behaving during his affair.

And honestly, why hadn’t you thought of it before? He had to be having an affair, you always heard him typing in his office. He was clearly on some website, probably some BDSM chatroom, and you were going to fucking kill him.

It all made sense now, last month when he’d asked you if you would forgive cheating. That was just Ransom being Ransom, he was trying to guess your reaction if you ever found out. Well, you hadn’t been exaggerating, you would kill him.

You stormed up to the office and started pounding on the door. The rest of the family was going to hear you, but they were smart enough to know they better just mind their own business in their rooms.

“Ransom!” you yelled after minutes of no answer. Again, you were met with silence and that was when your irritation became fury. “Ransom, I will kick this fucking door down! You know these doors are old and weak and I can do it!”

Long story short, the doors were stronger than you thought, and you could not do it. The low point of your life was probably having to crawl to Meg’s room and ask her to call their super-expensive home doctor because you had done something terrible to your foot.

Ransom showed up three hours later after you had been all wrapped up and the family was fawning over you. You were being forced to sit on the couch and they would not stop asking you if they could get things for you. You were already wearing three different crystals, Walt had made you hot chocolate, and Jacob was checking his horror movie collection for your favorites.

“What the hell happened?” Ransom demanded.

You glared at him. “Where were you?”

“I was out for a walk.”

“And you didn’t take your phone?” Richard pressed. “We were calling you non-stop.”

“I left it up in my office,” he informed, moving to your side. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“She tried to kick down your office door,” Linda answered.

Ransom gave you an incredulous look. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be,” you retorted. You never argued in front of the family because you and Ransom were a team. Yes, you fought, but you never wanted to give the family insight on the cracks in your relationship because you knew they would exploit them.

“Enough,” Meg cut in. “No arguing, Dr. Fields told her to take it easy.”

“You had to call the doctor?” he questioned. “What did you do?”

“Fracture,” Linda informed, “Not that big of a deal. Please, continue arguing.”

Everyone else glared at her while you and Ransom glared at one another. It was then that Jacob reappeared with one of the Saw movies. Typically.

August: the book,

You had taken to sleeping in Meg’s room with her because Ransom was a demon, but he wouldn’t try to enter her room. Ever. So, you comfortably stashed yourself away there every night and stayed there most mornings until noon. She didn’t mind. You’d gotten her a tv in there, so you watched Netflix a lot.

You had yet to confront Ransom with your accusations because you were scared. This family was obscene, being part of it was insane, every single person here was terrible in their own right. But you liked talking to Meg, you liked gardening with Joni, you liked reading the newspaper with Walt in the mornings and talking about the crime section. Even Jacob wasn’t the worst company, he liked to watch Dateline with you.

Ransom was convinced that you were just mad at him because you fractured your toes and couldn’t do yoga for a while. You were fine with him believing that because then you would have to have the conversation.

It was an odd situation to be in. You were sure he hadn’t physically done anything, but you weren’t sure if that should make you feel better or worse. He was connecting with someone and after your conversation, it was clear that he also believed you couldn’t cheat on someone you love. Given that he’d never said he loved you, you were rightfully concerned.

Did he ever love you?

Did you just spend almost 7 years with someone who was never going to feel that way about you? Did you throw away all those opportunities with someone else? Did you stupidly choose Ransom over your family?

Did you let this happen?

You had said you couldn’t forgive it, but now you understood why Linda did. If you love someone, you just don’t want to lose them. You hope that they don’t betray you, but what about when they do? It’s not easy to just leave.

You still loved Ransom, you always would. You didn’t want to lose any of the relationships you formed with the family, but it was different with Ransom. You didn’t want to, obviously, but you also couldn’t. You couldn’t imagine a life without him, you couldn’t imagine moving on, you couldn’t imagine being with someone else.

What did that mean?

You weren’t sure about the long-term answer, but short-term, it meant that you were going to pretend. He wasn’t cheating, he didn’t have dating apps on his phone, he didn’t even have an office as far as you were concerned.

Nothing. Everything was perfect.

Until Jacob’s birthday. You weren’t aware of it before, but unsurprisingly, he was a fucking Leo. You made a mental note to investigate the astrology of certain serial killers Jacob reminded you of, but you would do that with Meg later.

You were helping Walt and Joni cook this time. Apparently, they were the only Thrombeys that knew how to cook and were pleased to have another addition to the small team. It wasn’t a particularly difficult meal, lasagna with garlic bread, but it was Jacob’s favorite.

The plans had been made the week prior, Ransom was going to do one thing for you. Just one, you asked for so little. He would pick up the cake at noon and hide it in the second kitchen. Hide because Jacob wasn’t aware this was happening. He didn’t like to be the center of attention and if he knew this was happening before it was actually happening, he would do anything he could to stop it.

But come 2 PM, three hours after the cake was set to be picked up, you received a call from the bakery. You had let them know that your boyfriend was going to pick it up and you left his name with them and everything, all Ransom needed to do was show up.

The woman on the phone informed you that that didn’t happen, and they were about to close because of pandemic hours. You promised you would be in before she needed to shut the doors and since you were comfortable with your window of time, this was done. Over. First, you were going to yell at Ransom.

You quietly made your way to his office and listened with your ear pressed to the door. You didn’t make a sound until you heard him typing, then you started banging on the door with both hands.

It was seconds later that he answered the door, a confused look on his face over your apparent urgency. He looked like he’d pulled an all-nighter and smelled like a lot of alcohol. “What?”

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

“What? What do you need?”

You tried to open the door, but he held it in place.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You were getting into that office because you were going to find out what he was doing, he was not going to continue to lie to you. You kicked his shin and when his leg buckled, you shoved your way in.

“Hey!” He hurriedly shut the door behind you. He did not want anyone else getting in.

It looked like a normal office. There was a full bookshelf of titles that you couldn’t read because your anger was blurring your vision, there was a desk, a laptop, chairs, a bar cart, not a thing out of the ordinary. What the fuck was he doing in here all day?

There was only one logical answer. You finally turned to him, hands on your hips. “Who is she, Ransom?”

“What?”

“I know you’ve been cheating on me and I’m not going to play this game with you! I just want to know who the fuck she is!”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“Yes, I’m out of my fucking mind! I’ve been living with your psychotic family since March, dealing with their shit on top of yours, and you are now cheating on me! Please explain to me how anyone else wouldn’t also be out of their mind!”

“I’m not cheating on you!”

“Really?! Then what the fuck are you always doing up here?”

He paused at that.

The camel’s back broke. This was officially over. You turned around and rushed to his computer. He only took a second before he realized what you were doing and followed you there.

“I swear to everything above, if you are in some pathetic chatroom—”

He leaned over you just as you reached for the laptop and slammed it shut. “I’m not cheating on you!”

“Then let me see your fucking laptop!” You didn’t care that he had his hands planted on it, you still grabbed the opposite ends and tried to pull it out from under him. It wasn’t a logical plan since he was much stronger than you, but you weren’t necessarily operating on logic.

“You are crazy,” he asserted.

You moved your hands to the top edge of the laptop and threw your entire body back into Ransom. More than anything, it probably shocked him into moving back. Had you known that it was going to work, you probably would have been better about keeping your footing. Since that wasn’t the case, you both ended up on the floor and for a split second, the laptop was only in your hands.

You dove forward, just inches from the door.

Ransom rushed after you, grabbing your leg to pull you back down.

You knew he was going to get you under him, you wrapped your arms tight around the laptop and started screaming. Joni or Richard might feel inclined to call the police if they thought the two of you were honestly fighting.

Ransom slammed his hand down on your mouth as he crawled over you, knees pressed to your hips to keep you pinned there. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

You didn’t say a word and you didn’t let your hold on the laptop waver for even a second.

“If I move my hand, you better not scream again,” he warned.

Obviously, you were going to. As soon you could, you yelled, “Call the police, he’s going to kill—!”

Ransom covered your mouth again, eyes wide at you. “You have lost it!”

It was then that you realized you needed to do something. He had the upper hand, and he was going to get the laptop away from you if you did nothing. You started swiping at him with both elbows and knees, never catching anything, but making him nervous enough to back off a little.

Fuck it, he was done trying to be reasonable with you. He moved his hand again, but only to start fighting with you over the laptop again.

“Let it go!” you shrieked.

“You let it go!” he countered. “It’s mine!”

“Not anymore, cheater!”

“I’m not fucking cheating on you!”

“If you have some online BDSM girlfriend, I’m going to fucking kill you!”

“What? What the hell goes through your mind!?”

“You’re constantly in here and you won’t let me in, and you never tell me what you’re doing, you never tell anyone else either—”

“Because I hate my family,” he reminded.

“And clearly, you hate me!”

“I don’t hate you, you’re being childish.”

“Tell me her name, Ransom, or so help me—”

“I’m not cheating!”

“I saw the dating apps on your god damn phone!”

“I am not cheating!”

“Then what are you doing?!”

“I’m writing a book!” he hissed.

You froze. He was what?

He kept his voice quiet, “That’s where I was a couple months ago, the meeting that I told you was none of your business. I only had a few chapters, but I got a deal out of it—”

“Get off me.”

He blinked in surprise and then hurried to do so, helping you up, no longer interested in stealing away the laptop.

You held onto it because you weren’t yet sure if you were going to use it to cause severe bodily harm to him. He was writing a book and didn’t tell you? You didn’t know he was interested in writing at all. You didn’t know he could sit down and write more than one entire sentence. He was always moving around, throwing himself into mindless activities.

A book?

You were hurt. Getting a book deal was major and he didn’t tell you he was trying for it, but then he didn’t even tell you that he’d gotten it. He had this huge thing in his life that he kept separate from you and that hurt your feelings.

“That’s was the apps were,” he explained. “I was doing research. Honestly, I’ll let you see the profiles, they’re not even pictures of me. I haven’t spoken to anyone either, it’s just very basic—”

You held the laptop out to him.

He slowly took it back from you, preparing for any other extreme reaction you might have. What he wasn’t expecting was complete silence, he figured you must have been confused by this. It was rather sudden, even for him. “You going to say something?”

You debated for a long while. You wanted to ask why he was pushing you away. You wanted to ask if it was because he didn’t think you were supportive, if he just didn’t want you to know, then you wanted to know why that was. What had you ever done that made him think he couldn’t tell you about this?

“I have to go get Jacob’s cake.”

“Shit!” He ran his hand down his face. “I completely forgot—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Then you were rushing out, ignoring the curious looks from the family on the way.

October: Ransom’s birthday,

It had been seven weeks since you found out about the book and seven weeks since you last had an actual conversation with Ransom. That was your doing purely, and he made the attempts, but you ignored them.

Linda was thrilled. This was different than when you and Ransom were fighting, because fighting indicated that you had the desire to win, he had the desire to win, but then that meant a resolution would follow. If you were ignoring him, what did you want? She hoped it was the end of the road for the two of you.

You weren’t sure. About anything. But you just had to go day by day and listen to yourself. Up to now, you weren’t sure what you wanted to do. As time went on and you were left to wallow in your hurt feelings, you were wondering if maybe this was the end.

Seven years and he didn’t tell you he was writing a book? That was insane, that was inexcusable. You didn’t get to have any part of your life not completely exposed to Ransom and you were okay with that. Obviously, he didn’t feel the same.

Seven years, a nearly dead modeling career, no skills, no aim in life. You had no idea how you would start all over. You had no idea how you would live your life without being Ransom’s girlfriend. It was practically a title, like the queen, and you loved it. You loved him.

But he didn’t tell you about the book! How could you get over that? Well, you could talk to him, but you were not going to do that. You just weren’t ready because you would want to know why and all the answers that were playing out in your mind were not going to make you feel better.

It didn’t matter, or more correctly, it couldn’t matter. Ransom’s birthday was coming up and Linda was trying to fight you on everything.

It was October, the worst of the pandemic was over, wasn’t it? No, you didn’t think so and anyone with two solid IQ points wouldn’t either. She wanted some family over, some of his friends—Megan, you had heard her mention to Richard. You didn’t want a single person in your house, no one outside of the family.

She suggested going to a restaurant then, but you knew Ransom hated when they threw him parties like that.

She wanted him to have a red velvet cake and you knew that Ransom hated red velvet. He preferred lemon, but he told you that you were never allowed to get him a lemon cake because he would eat it all. He was fine with chocolate, didn’t hate it, didn’t love it.

If you weren’t going out, then she wanted catering from his favorite restaurant, and a minimum of 30 people over, the house was big enough for it. It wasn’t even his favorite restaurant, the one she wouldn’t stop talking about, you knew for a fact Ransom did not like 30 people, and the house was not big enough for it.

On top of all of that, she kept asking you what you were going to get him. She just didn’t want to get the same thing. Why would that happen? Why would she get him the same thing as you? You had no idea, but she insisted on knowing. Problem was, you didn’t have an answer to give her. You had no idea what you were going to get Ransom.

Three days before his birthday, Ransom found you on the floor of the kitchen with an icepack pressed to your forehead. It was three in the morning, you had most of the lights off, only your phone and laptop providing light. Even in the dim kitchen, he could tell that you had been crying, eyes puffy and red, tear tracks down your cheeks.

He had been in his office, more writing. He’d only come down for a glass of water, sure that no one else would be awake at such an odd hour. This was the first time in a long time that he had seen you alone, and this naked. Usually, you were surrounded by the family, Joni being the greatest culprit. And since you still weren’t sleeping in the bedroom, he hadn’t seen you in your tiny shorts and bralettes.

He sat down at your side, setting his hand on your thigh. “Hey, is everything okay?”

You tossed the icepack onto the floor. “I never got stress headaches before your family moved in.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

It was silent for several moments after that, you were thinking about how you wanted to approach this topic. It was clear now, in your mind, why he hadn’t told you about the book. “I never listen to you.”

He turned to you, eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

You were already crying again, tears rolling down your face. You had felt terrible these past few weeks and you were finally beginning to understand why. “I don’t listen, I’m a terrible listener.”

“No,” he protested. “You’re not a terrible listener—”

“I have no idea what to get you for your birthday. I never know, I never get you a good present.”

“Yes, you do,” he argued. “And you don’t need to get me anything—”

“Of course, I do!” you blurted out. Was he insane? This was his birthday, you couldn’t not get him something for his birthday. “This is why you didn’t tell me about the book, right?”

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Because I don’t listen,” you explained. “Why would you tell me about it if I wasn’t even going to listen, right?”

“Baby,” he sighed, “That’s not why I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, honestly—”

“You didn’t tell me you were writing, you didn’t tell me you were trying to get published, and then you didn’t tell me about the book deal.”

“I know…I was going to.”

“But?” you prompted. “How could you not tell me about any of it?”

“I was worried.”

“Why?”

“Because of fucking Harlan. He’s the world’s best mystery author, for whatever fucking reason. I was worried that you wouldn’t think I should do this. I was worried about how it would look. I don’t want to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps like the rest of my pathetic family.”

“So, were you just never going to say anything about it?”

“Well…maybe. There’s something else… I wasn’t sure I was going to use my name, so it was completely possible that I could keep you from ever finding out about them. And if you ever got suspicious, maybe publish a few of the others under my real name.”

“Others? What are you talking about?”

“So…my book deal is for, at the very least, three books. In a series. If they do well, I can do others, with the possibility of keeping this series going…whenever I feel inspired to do so.”

“Okay…what’s the series about?”

“A woman.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“A very mean woman,” he clarified. “She’s a black widow, you know, marries rich men, murders them, takes the money…and I’ve sort of been using your name.”

Your eyebrows slowly rose. “You’ve been writing about me?”

“No,” he immediately protested, then sighed. “Okay, a little, but she’s beautiful. I mention that a lot, I promise.”

Yes, you were relieved. But was he completely off the hook? You slapped his shoulder. “Are you serious?”

“Hey,” he held his hand to the skin that you had just smacked. “Ow, maybe don’t hit me just days away from my birthday if you didn’t get me anything.”

“God, Ransom, I was really hurt.”

“I’m sorry about that. Really, I know I rarely ever apologize and sometimes, I don’t mean it, but I mean it now.”

“Well, can I read some of it?”

He smirked. “I don’t know, baby girl, you haven’t been behaving lately. You tried to break into my office, hurt yourself, and then did break into my office to steal my laptop. You thought I was cheating on you.”

“I saw dating apps, Ransom.”

“After we talked about my parents—”

“You lock yourself in your office for, like, 20 hours at a time—”

“And some BDSM chatroom? Because you’re normal in bed?”

You rolled your eyes. “Look, I’m sorry for accusing you of cheating, but you should have told me about the book. Which you apologized for, so it just cancels out. Let’s do what we usually do and just pretend it never happened.”

“You told Joni to call the cops,” he reminded.

You shrugged. “I miss Wagner, he probably would have been over here immediately.”

He snorted. “Okay, we both made mistakes, but you’re right.”

With his agreement to move on, you climbed onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Please?”

“I’m not completely convinced yet,” he teased.

Rolling your eyes, you kissed him. “Now?”

“You’re getting closer.”

You scoffed and kissed him again, reaching into his sweatpants to pull out his cock. It didn’t take long to get him hard and as soon as you did, you used your other hand to pull your shorts aside. You broke away from the kiss to watch his face as you slowly slid down his length.

His hands gripped your hips and he nodded. “Yeah, you can have whatever you want.”

You smiled. “Perfect, let’s get it now.”

He snorted. “Wow, now you’re a fucking comedian?”

“Well, you’re an author,” you retorted.

He nodded once. “You have a point. I vaguely remember what I wrote, want me to tell you?”

You nodded. You wanted to hear it in his voice, you were going to demand that he read it to you anyway.

“Her first husband was a writer,” he informed.

You lifted your eyebrows. Was that supposed to be clever?

“He often wrote poetry about how devastatingly beautiful he found her.”

You rolled your eyes a little, turning down to stare at his chest. He was wearing a shirt, but you could still see the muscles through the white material. “How did she kill him?”

“Scared him to death, she is very scary.”

You bit your cheek to prevent a smile.

“His fault, though. He was never healthy, did a few drugs he shouldn’t have. Drank too much, never ate right. He had a weak heart anyway.”

You hummed.

He wrapped his arm around your back and rolled you over onto the floor underneath him. He pulled your thighs apart before placing both hands on the floor for balance. Slowly, he pulled out and drove back in hard.

You gasped his name, arms winding tightly around his torso.

“He loves her skin,” he asserted.

You nodded encouragingly, you wanted him to tell you everything. “Mhm.”

“Loves how soft she is, especially her thighs, and he loves how she bruises.” He was steadily rocking his hips, speaking just loud enough that you could hear him over the wet noises of his cock sliding in and out of your body, but quiet enough that you were sure no one else would hear.

You reminded yourself you were downstairs, on the kitchen floor, it was important to remain quiet. Ransom’s family had caught you in a lot of low moments over the years, but this would take the cake. You turned your head, burying your face in the bend of his neck.

“He loves her neck, how perfectly it fits in his hands. He loves her lips, how they look wrapped around him, or when she’s smiling—”

“You wrote that?” you breathed.

“This isn’t some school-book-report shit like what Harlan was publishing.”

“Those weren’t children’s books,” you felt inclined to point out.

“Well, mine have sex.”

You snorted. “You’re going to write about other men fucking me?”

“A woman here and there,” he explained. “That’s why they have to die such horrible deaths.”

You laughed briefly, pressing your mouth to his shoulder when you worried you would moan.

“He loves her legs, how tightly they wrap around him.” As he spoke, he lifted your legs one at a time, pressing them to the sides of his body as a cue to hook your ankles together. “He loves her arms, how easily he can pin them above her head.” Again, he did just that and you were forced to lay flat on the floor, clamping your mouth shut to stifle the noises spilling out.

After managing to get both wrists in one hand, he placed his opposite forearm off to your side and set all his weight there. You could feel it in the way he got heavier against your hips, trapping you between him and the floor, controlling every aspect of how he was going to make you come.

He stared down at your face for a moment, watching you struggle to keep your composure as he was fucking into you harder now. He leaned down and your eyes fell shut, he kissed over both eyelids and said, “He loves her eyes, even when she’s looking up at him, demanding something, a new diamond necklace, a car, but won’t actually say the words because she’s so fucking spoiled.”

You smirked and he felt it, and his hips snapped up harshly to get it to stop. It only worked for a moment. You were smug, Ransom was pouring his heart out to you and confessed that he liked that you were spoiled? You would never let him live this down.

“He loves her cheeks,” he started kissing across your face and you couldn’t help but smile, “Especially when she’s doing that.” He stopped to pay special attention to your nose, “And he loves her nose, even though she hates it. And he loves when she pouts,” he lowered his mouth to give you several chaste pecks, until you were pouting because he wouldn’t just kiss you.

With a scoff, he finally let you kiss him back. It didn’t last long before he was on the move again, pressing his lips to your chin and proclaiming the fictional character’s love of that, then your jaw, your clavicle, and once he tore your bralette out of the way, your breasts.

As he continued to move down, he was sliding his cock out by the inch and you were trying to stop him from getting too far, you were desperately pulling at him with your legs, but Ransom was much stronger than you.

“He loves her stomach,” he muttered into your skin as he descended and finally, his cock slipped out. Because of that, he had to let your wrists go but you knew better than to try to move them.

“Ransom, please—”

“And he loves her hips.” As he pulled down your shorts, he kissed the skin he exposed, almost frantically alternating between left and right. Once the shorts were down, he spread your thighs and looked up at you. “And he fucking loves her pussy.”

You let out a strangled, high-pitched sound as he dove down and wrapped his lips around your clit. He stared at you the entire time as he sucked for a few seconds, then flicked his tongue back and forth, only to repeat the pattern until you were crying and squirming, staying in the position he had placed you in.

When he knew you were close, he pulled back. He only set small kisses to your aching center, hands moving up and down your hips, your stomach, your thighs. “He loves how sweet it tastes, he loves how fucking tight it is, how it feels like his cock was made to be inside it—”

“Ransom, please,” you blurted out. Your arms were stinging with the desire to reach down for him, but you knew that would change the path of this entire night. You just needed to be fucked. Simply. Intimately. None of the elaborate shit you both usually tried.

In seconds, he had made his way over you and was inside you again. You wrapped yourself around him, arms and legs, and held onto him tight enough that you were sure he wouldn’t be able to get away again.

“He loves every fucking inch of her,” he stated. “Because she’s his, she belongs to him and she’s never going to belong to anyone else.”

You scoffed. “But she kills him?”

“Well, she’s a complex woman.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not complex.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“I just want you and this house, and I want all of this shit to be over so we can get rid of your family.”

He kissed you shortly. “That makes two of us, baby.”

There was a difference between loving something about someone and truly being in love with someone. You’d always loved things about Ransom, but it took you about a solid year to confidently admit that you were in love with him. He could say that he loved everything about you, but that was not him finally saying it.

“Does she love him?” you wondered.

He shrugged a shoulder. “He thinks so.”

“Does he love her?” This wasn’t asking for too much. Ransom could hide behind this fictional creation of his and say yes, and you would never ask again. You just wanted to hear it once, that wasn’t unfair.

He considered his answer for a long time, breaking eye contact to look down at where his fingers were hovering over your shoulder. He began to trace shapes there, still contemplating. “Sometimes…she thinks so.”

“But does he?” you pressed.

Again, more silence. He was trying to gauge what he could get away with. He always knew this was going to wear on you eventually, but he never thought it was going to be during one of the times he was inside you. How could you not feel how he felt about you? “I think—”

“Are you fucking serious!?”

You immediately knew whose voice that was—Linda. Shutting your eyes, you let your head rest back on the floor. The headache you had been crying over earlier was returning.

“RICHARD!” She turned out of the kitchen and began storming back to her room. “Richard, wake up! You need to talk to your son! Is there no place in this house anymore that is sacred?!”

Ransom sighed deeply and you looked up at him. “Well, do you want to make you come first before we go upstairs?”

You shrugged. “Okay. Hurry up, we don’t have to be quiet anymore.”

November: thanksgiving,

Ransom was on his best behavior, you theorized that was because he didn’t want you to again ask him for more of that insane basic human emotion. Whatever, you could not dwell. There were people dying in this world, and you wanted to waste time crying over your boyfriend who gave you everything you wanted, but just wouldn’t say a certain word to you?

Well, the answer was yes, but it was Thanksgiving and the Thrombeys had about a million and one weird-ass family traditions. That meant you were short on time to be pouting.

It was a freezing, perfect day. It had snowed all night and the house looked like something straight out of a Hallmark movie. Yes, this was going to be a complicated day with a lot of personalities that were butting heads because everyone had been together for way too long, but you were feeling festive. You wanted to make the best of the day and you planned to force the rest of the family to follow your lead.

The start of the traditions was donating money. You were the one who brought it up as soon as Richard tried to skip down the list. It always started with donating. Harlan would write checks for half a million dollars and let every member choose where they wanted to donate, the past three years you were included in that. Harlan always liked you, probably more than he liked some of his actual family.

“I’m just not sure,” Donna was saying, “We haven’t made much money this year.”

“Are you kidding?” Meg demanded. “Your husband’s publishing company is still seeing sale increases.”

“Because of the death of the author,” Linda pointed out. “Meaning, we should be a lot more frugal. The money will not be coming in the same way that it was.”

“This is not up for debate,” you snapped. “Everyone pick a god damn charity. Harlan insisted on this every single year, and we are going to continue it. Unless you all would like to provoke his ghost to come murder us. He died in this house after all!”

“It’s money,” Ransom pointed out. “We have more than enough, some people don’t have any.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “My son is just trying to get you to have sex with him.”

You glared.

“Mother,” Ransom sighed. “This isn’t a discussion. Just pick your damn charity.”

“Donna, it’s fine,” Walt promised. “Meg’s right, we’ve had a great year. And Y/N is right, Dad always wanted us to do this. I will start with my usual charity, Homes for Our Troops.”

“Fantastic.” You took the check as soon as he handed it over. “Donna?”

“American Cancer Society, of course.” She held it out for you and then looked to Jacob. “I think this year—”

“I have a charity picked,” Jacob informed.

Everyone fell silent. Likely, everyone’s immediate suspicion was Trump’s request for donations since he was still insisting the election was fraudulent. However, no one said anything because no one wanted to be the first victim of Jacob’s impending murder spree.

“Can’t I pick my own?” he pressed.

“Yes,” you answered. “You can, because everyone can pick their own charity.”

“Yeah,” Walt echoed. “Of course.”

He wrote the name down and slid the check across the table to you.

Ransom’s hand tightened on your thigh, a reminder not to let anyone antagonize you this holiday.

“Canines for Disabled Kids,” you read. “Jacob, that’s really great…I didn’t even know that was a charity.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well, I like the idea that they can have dogs as friends and don’t have to make human friends. Humans are so stupid.” Then he returned all his attention to his phone.

“And we’re back,” Richard muttered.

Donna’s head snapped in his direction.

“Okay,” you interjected. “Joni?”

She chose a foundation interested in ending childhood obesity, received a snide comment from Meg about how even her acts of kindness were vain, and you intervened before it became bigger than that. Meg chose an organization that works to stop childhood prostitution, Linda went for homeless youth, and Richard selected Make-A-Wish Foundation. Walt felt the need to sarcastically commend him for his originality.

“Enough,” you said before Richard could respond. “My dearest Ransom, what have you chosen?”

He smiled at you. “Animal Legal Defense Fund. Their tagline is: all our clients are innocent.”

You nodded. “They are. All animals are innocent.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “Can we move on?”

“Okay, mine is—”

“I can’t believe you don’t have a problem that she’s basically brainwashing our son,” Linda interrupted, turning to Richard.

“Linda, please,” Richard sighed.

“My charity,” you spoke loudly, gaining their attention once more, “Is Planned Parenthood.”

“Are you out of your mind?” she demanded. “You want to donate your money to abortions?”

You glared. “That’s not all Planned Parenthood does, but…yes, I do. Babies suck, if a woman doesn’t want to have it, she doesn’t have to.”

Joni nodded. “I agree, completely. I’ve been learning in my group about how we are only placed on this earth to offer up our vibrations to one another. Our obligations do not exceed that. We don’t have to be anything! Not a mother, not a wife—”

“Oh, shut up!” Linda barked.

“Mother, calm down,” Ransom dismissed. “I don’t believe for a second any of you have not either had an abortion or been an accessory to one in the past.”

“I would never!” she gasped, pointing a finger at him. “And you better not ever let her!”

“Yeah, don’t worry about that happening. I’ve been thinking about eliminating that possibility, surgically—”

Linda’s mouth dropped.

This was, of course, untrue. Ransom would, first, never sacrifice any part of himself for that reason. Second, the matter had not been discussed yet. You guys weren’t even thinking about marriage, so of course, children weren’t being brought up. But that morning, Ransom woke up in the mood for chaos, and maybe you sort of did, too.

“I wanted a second child,” she told Richard, “You said to stop after Ransom because he was “perfect”.”

“I did say that,” he muttered to himself, a look of pure regret on his face.

You smiled at Ransom. “You are perfect.”

He kissed you, gaining disapproving noises from most of the table.

“I will never be a grandmother!” Linda yelled, burying her hands in her hair and resting her shoulders on the table.

You glanced at Ransom.

He nodded toward the kitchen. “Now that that’s done, let’s start cooking.”

Joni and Meg were currently searching the entire house for the Christmas decorations. They always ended up getting put in the strangest places and since you and Ransom had moved in and not known where they were, you moved basically everything. It was possible that you were going to have to make do with the decorations you and Ransom had been using for the past five years at his house.

You had, however, purchased a lot of lights because the Thrombeys loved their blue lights. Tacky, you wanted the yellow lights and made sure to buy enough that even a single blue light needed to be on that house. Ransom was excitedly awaiting his mother’s reaction to that.

Every year, Richard and Walt would put lights on the house while the dinner was cooking. Ransom should have helped but no one actually thought Ransom would lift a finger, so no one wasted their breath. He was only helping you cook because, as mentioned, he was pretending to be a good boyfriend.

But he was a monster, a true monster that was currently squashing even more of your dreams. “The answer isn’t just no, it’s fuck no.”

You glared. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

“You asked if it was a good idea.”

“I think it is.”

“Then why did you ask me at all?”

“Because I thought you would be nice for a second, just a second, Ransom. I’m not asking for a lot.”

“We are not getting Jacob a dog.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hate dogs.”

“Well, I hate you,” you hissed.

He rolled his eyes. “Enough of the dramatics. This day is tiring enough already—”

“We’ll get him a small one, it doesn’t need to be those huge horses your mother calls dogs. A chihuahua, maybe. A Pomeranian, a dachshund—”

“Absolutely not, we already have Joni here, I don’t want some yappy animal—”

“Ransom!” you whined. “If we get him a dog, he might not become a serial killer.”

“He already is a serial killer, love, these are just the early years when he’s finding himself. The answer is still no.”

“Ugh, fine, can you just make the pie crusts, please?”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Three? For what?”

“Pumpkin, apple, pecan, Ransom. The same things your family has served every single year I’ve been here, and presumably, all the ones before that.”

“Ugh.” He stood at the counter reading the recipe, muttering his disapproval, up until he saw the ingredients on the counter. “What is all of this?”

“Um, you know that recipe in your hand? The final product doesn’t just appear.”

“No, what is all of this…gluten-free flour, oat flour? Where’s the normal flour?”

“That is normal flour, Ransom.”

“No,” he argued. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s normal to some people,” you countered. “And this year, it’s normal to us. Joni went out and bought the groceries. If you wanted something, you could have done it yourself.”

“You wouldn’t let me leave the house! You kept saying I was going to get sick and die.”

“You could have ordered them!”

“You can’t be serious. On top of this dreadful year, you’re trying to make us eat healthy food on Thanksgiving?”

“Ransom, make the pie crusts!”

It was silent for several minutes, probably because you were using the mixer to make the pumpkin filling. As soon as it was off, Ransom was acting like you’d asked him to perform surgery.

“What does toss mean?”

“What?”

“It says to toss the ingredients.”

“Um, like, stir, I guess.”

“You guess or you know?”

“Just fucking stir, Ransom. I make pies all the time.”

He huffed. “No, oh, no. No, this is telling me to touch things with my hands, that’s disgusting and I’m not doing that.”

You turned back, eyes wide. “Ransom!”

“I’m not touching butter with my hands!”

“What is wrong with you!? It’s cooking, you have to use your hands to cook!”

“I don’t like touching butter!”

“How would you know? You’ve never cooked a day in your life!”

“I’m not touching it,” he claimed.

You took a slow breath in and released it while counting to ten. “Then switch with me and make the apple pie filling.”

“Great.” He walked to your counter as you walked to his. “What is this? What’s in this bowl?”

“The pumpkin pie filling. Cover it and put it in the refrigerator. That’s where the apples are.”

His next question came after he pulled out the bag of apples. “These?”

You turned back, blinking. “Yes, Ransom, those are apples.”

“I have to cut them?”

“And peel them.”

“That’s going to take forever.”

“Ransom, I’m about to smack you.”

“This is a lot!” he pointed out. “Why are we the only people cooking?”

“We’re not, not anymore,” you decided. “Get out, you can go help your father and Walt with the Christmas lights.”

“And you’re going to cook alone?”

“I basically already am.” You turned around to walk to the sink to wash your hands. Unlike Ransom, you weren’t making one pie crust at a time, and you would only need to do this once. When you turned around, you knew Ransom was behind you, but you had no idea what he was doing.

You only saw how close he was when you felt something wet and cold against the side of your face. Whatever it was, he dragged it all the way to the opposite cheek. You smelled and tasted the frosting that you had made for the sugar cookies.

He peeled the frosted star-shaped cookie off your skin and ate one of the corners. “Your blood-sugar seemed low, I thought I’d help.”

You tore the cookie out of his hand and shoved it directly in his face.

He scattered back, eyes wide in shock—as if he expected anything less? “What is wrong with you?!”

You grabbed the retractable faucet from the sink and turned the water on.

“Do not!”

It was a warning you ignored. Within seconds, he was slipping along the kitchen floor, rushing back to you to get the faucet out of your hands. As soon as he had it, he turned it on you, and you screamed like a cat about to be thrown in a bathtub.

“Stop it!” you ordered. “You are ruining Thanksgiving!”

“You’re ruining it!”

You elbowed him hard enough that he dropped the faucet, then kicked your heels off to run to the counter with the cookies and frosting.

“Don’t you dare!” He rushed after you and wrestled the cookie out of your hand, ultimately crushing it into crumbs that scattered all over the counter and the floor.

You shoved your opposite hand into one of the bowls of frosting, whipping around to place your hand on his face.

“What the fuck?!” But he leaned down, clearly uninterested in an answer, and pressed his face into your hair.

“My hair?!” you shrieked. “I’m going to kill you!”

There were several sets of steps that you both heard, but neither of you wanted to let the other get the upper hand. When the family finally found you, you had slipped, ended up on your ass, and Ransom was holding you down, claiming that you caused too many problems when you were on your feet.

“What the hell is going on?!” Joni questioned.

“Ransom, get off of her!” Meg pushed her way between the two of you, pulling you onto your feet. “Oh, my god, what is going on? Are you okay?”

Well, you were both soaking wet, layered in frosting, furiously trying to get another cookie to throw at the other. Were you okay? Only physically. Mentally, you weren’t sure either one of you was ever on solid ground there.

“Enough!” Linda yelled. “What is this insanity!? We need to be eating in less than an hour and as per usual, you two can’t go five minutes without fighting! That’s it, everyone get out of this kitchen! This is why I cook, this is why I do everything! I’m the only one that can!”

She turned away to open the door to usher everyone out and you took your chance to get some type of retaliation that you had been longing for since before the damn stay-at-home order.

You were able to reach for a cookie before either Meg or Ransom could stop you, and no one had ever dreamed your target would be Linda, so for a detrimental moment, their reactions were nonexistent. Essentially, everyone could only stare in pure horror as they realized the cookie was darting straight for the back of Linda’s head. Which, in your defense, wasn’t your exact intention. You thought her back, not her head…but well, there was a reason you weren’t a professional athlete.

Gasps filled the room as soon as the cookie contacted Linda’s head, then again when it fell to the floor. Linda slowly turned, eyes wide, jaw set, shoulders tense—that must be where Ransom got it.

“This is my house,” you reminded. “You do not get to order me out of my kitchen!”

She looked at Ransom, silently urging him to make his alliance known right then. Before he had to say anything, yelling sounded from outside the house. Walt and Richard had yet to finish the one job they had, everyone figured that was the cause of the disturbance.

Quickly, you all made your way out to the front of the house. Richard had his leg wrapped up in a mess of lights and was hanging from the edge of the house. The same vines of lights were also wound around Walt, who was hanging onto the house for dear life.

“Oh, my god!” Donna yelled. “Oh, my god!”

“Are you serious?” Linda demanded. “There is a pandemic! You guys seriously want to end up in the god damn hospital during a pandemic?”

Joni sighed in utter frustration. “Walt, just hang on. We’ll get Richard down—”

“Oh, my god!” Donna continued, despite the lack of panic coming from literally every other single person present. Even Walt seemed less alarmed than her. She started running to Richard and on any other day, it would have been an effortless plan of action. On this day, that Massachusetts had just seen a hell of a lot of snow, when the pavement was dangerously icy, she fell.

Meg screamed. “Oh, my god, I’m calling Dr. Fields!”

“He’s a doctor!” Joni pointed out. “A physical doctor—he won’t know how to deal with this sheer stupidity unless someone broke a bone!”

Donna, now over her initial shock, was attempting to get up.

“Donna, I think you’re hurt,” Meg said. “Just stay—”

Jacob was cautiously moving closer to her, directing her to stay put when Walt had finally lost his battle with the house. His hands slipped off and he went sliding down the edge of the roof. Richard hit the floor first, eliciting more screams from Meg and Donna, and then Walt followed onto several snow-covered bushes, and everyone lost their minds.

“I’m calling Dr. Fields! I am fucking calling Dr. Fields right now!” Meg repeated, shaking so much she could hardly get the phone out of her pocket, let alone find which one she had placed it in.

Joni began making her way through the snow to check if Richard was okay.”

“Oh, my god!” Donna was still repeating.

“Mom, just stay down,” Jacob said.

“Jesus,” Ransom snapped. “How hard is it to put these god damn lights on this god damn house?” He was following Joni, confident in the theory that his father was simply being dramatic. Walt, on the other hand, might have needed medical attention.

Meg watched her feet as she was walking back inside. “Dr. Fields, we have a serious emergency right now. I think everyone’s dying!”

Ransom and Joni were helping Richard sit up when he turned back to you. “Hey, get inside, you’re wet and going to get sick.”

He had a point, so without argument, you turned to do so. You felt the boniest of hands on your shoulders before you were shoved down face-first into the snow.

That was when Joni started screaming. “Oh, my god, call the police! She’s going to kill her. Meg, call the police!”

Meg ran out of the house and saw what was happening and once again, started to panic. “Dr. Fields, you need to get here immediately!”

Before you even fully processed what had happened, Linda was on top of you turning you onto your back.

“You stole my house!” she screeched.

“Linda!” Richard scolded.

You saw her hands go for your throat—later, everyone would claim she was probably doing something else, she obviously wasn’t going to choke you. You did the only thing you could think to do, you grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it in her face.

She toppled over and you made your way on top of her. You weren’t going to hit your boyfriend’s mother, but you did proceed to throw snow in her face until Ransom had gotten you off her.

The grand total of injuries was seven. Yet, the total of injuries that had occurred directly in the incident was five. Donna had a bruised tailbone, Richard had a broken leg, Walt had a sprained wrist, your knee was cut up fairly terribly since you fell on it when Linda pushed you, and Linda had stitches on her cheek because the first time you threw snow at her, there was a huge block of ice that you weren’t aware of. After Richard pointed out that you hadn’t started the altercation, she punched him, and he now had a swollen eye. After Ransom had gotten you inside, Meg, in her state of panic, hadn’t seen the door was shut and walked straight into it, and her nose was broken.

You weren’t sure how this family had managed more disaster with nearly 300 fewer people, but there you were. Ransom had forced you into the shower to get all the frosting out of your hair and to hopefully prevent the cold he suspected you were going to catch given the tiny outfit you were parading around in outside.

He lured you out of the shower with a mug of hot chocolate. Every space heater in the house was gathered in your bedroom and as soon as you were in his reach, Ransom wrapped you up in at least three heavy blankets.

When he sat you down on the bed, he pulled your leg out so he could tend to your knee. You felt like a child with him sat next to you with a first aid kit, too-delicately prodding at your irritated, aching skin. He was babying you.

You didn’t feel guilty for what you had done to Linda, but you did hate that Ransom was in the middle. “I’m s—”

He held his hand up to you. “Don’t.”

“But—”

He turned up to you. “Babe, she attacked you.”

“I…threw a cookie at her.”

He snorted. “Yeah, that was a little crazy.”

“I am sorry,” you huffed. “We said we weren’t going to let them bother us today.”

“You finally told her this was your house. I’ve wanted that since we first moved in. I know what we said, but all in all, I think we gained more than we lost.”

“What did we gain, Ransom?”

“Well, she knows you’re scrappy so she might think twice before pushing you again.”

You rolled your eyes. “Anything else?”

“Everyone is going to be preoccupied taking care of each other, Joni doting on Meg, my mom basically doing everything for my dad, Walt and Donna being overly protective of one another…”

“So, we can have sex in the kitchen and there’s a higher chance we won’t get caught?”

“That was exactly what I was thinking.”

You shrugged. “If we got Jacob a dog—”

“You know what?” he cut in. “Get out of these blankets, I haven’t spanked you in a long time even though you’ve deserved it about five times over by now.”

He made a show of attempting to get you out of the blankets even though you both knew he wouldn’t do it. You laughed the entire time until Ransom laid himself out on top of you, uncaring about how heavy he was.

“Is everyone okay?”

“They’ll live.”

“Well, I know Meg will—she’s going to get a nose job.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “You are just going to have to live vicariously through her.”

“We kinda ruined Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I did not,” he argued. “The turkey is almost done, the pies are in the other oven, also almost done—”

“All three?”

He nodded. “Yep. Jacob, believe it or not, was happy to peel and cut the apples.”

You rolled your eyes. “I swear, Ransom.”

“As soon as everyone stops acting like they’re dying, we’ll be able to sit down…well, Donna might not be able to sit down.”

You laughed. “Your family is insane.”

“And clearly, you fit right in.”

“Clearly,” you muttered. Unfortunately.

Christmas Eve:

Sometimes, you wished that you had listened to him when he said this wasn’t happening. Because then you wouldn’t have needed to worry about so many god damn people! It would just be you and Ransom in absolute seclusion, but no. No, you would never have it so easy during this fucking holiday.

How difficult was it to pick up the presents that you had ordered? You picked them out, you organized it all, you had only asked Ransom to drive to a single location and obtain them for you. Why hadn’t he? Because he was sleeping at 2 in the afternoon.

What did you have for Jacob? Not a damn thing. You had no presents for the teenage delinquent you were terrified of. You weren’t family, he was going to store you away in the basement and torture you until he got bored. Ransom probably wouldn’t even realize you had been missing until Jacob placed your body parts all over the house. And three of Meg’s presents were also missing, you knew Linda was going to make another comment.

You would hit her with more ice. After you strangled her son, of course, who was currently hot helping in any way at all.

“Ransom, put your fucking drink down and hand me the tape!”

“Are your fucking hands broken?!”

“I’m holding the box!”

He slammed his drink down on the bedside table and angrily stormed his way to where you were surrounded by boxes, wrapping paper, and a million other things he wasn’t even aware you’d spent money on. This was too much for his family and he was just waiting for you to realize that they were nowhere near worth the effort you constantly put in.

Ransom picked up the tape, tore a piece off, and placed it between where your fingers were resting on the box.

“Thank you so much,” you responded, pure sarcasm.

And god damn, he had had enough of your fucking tone. “You are driving me insane!”

“I’m driving you insane?! Your family has been ruing my whole fucking life since March!”

“I didn’t want them here!”

“Well, I’m a human with actual empathy for others, so I logically knew that that was not an option!”

“You were going to leave my mother out of your precious sanctuary!”

“Because she’s abusive!” You shoved your hands into your hair and shook your head. “I’m done, absolutely done. I can’t have this conversation with you again. Your mother sucks, why is this news to you? I’m so sorry for trying to hold her accountable for her actions. Oh, but of course, every time someone tries to make any of you face the consequences for your actions, you act like it’s a hate crime!”

He glared. “I hate you.”

“I hate you!” you seethed.

“I can’t fucking believe I actually want to do this!” he turned away, scrubbing one of his hands down his face. “You make me so fucking crazy.”

“Do what?” you demanded. “What the hell are you talking about now? What god-awful thing have you decided to do?”

He made his way to the bed, tearing open the drawer to the bedside table on his side. He was muttering quickly under his breath and even if his speech hadn’t been so hurried, it was quiet enough that you had no chance of hearing anything.

It was silent for several moments before he turned back to you and threw something on the bed. He gestured to it then crossed his arms over his chest.

Since your bed was a mess of dark blankets, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to be seeing. You stood, carefully stepping your way out of the present-wrapping station you had created and neared the bed. You stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a tiny black box against the mattress.

You looked back at him, eyes wide, pleading. No…no, that was not happening. He wasn’t actually…

“Marry me.”

“What?!”

He actually seemed surprised by your reaction. He leaned over, snatched the box off the bed, and stomped back to you. “Marry me.”

“You’ve lost it,” you accused. “You’re actually literally insane. You need to be committed!”

“Yes, it’s insane that I want to marry you but for some fucking reason, I do!”

“Oh, my god, Ransom!” You slapped the box out of his hands and that was just too much for him. “I’m not fucking marrying you, you’ve never even told me you love me!”

He hurriedly picked up the box, tossed it back onto the bed, and then grabbed you by your arms. “You’re seriously fucking bringing that up now?”

“What does that even mean?! Yes, I’m bringing it up now. You marry someone when you’re in love with them and since you haven’t said it after seven years, I understandably doubt your feelings for me.”

“You are such a fucking brat.”

“You’re a brat!” you yelled, more exasperated than you’d ever felt. “You’re such a fucking entitled brat! There’s no other way to describe you. You just think I’m going to say yes and give you everything you want when you can’t even say you love me!”

“This is absolutely fucking ridiculous.”

“Just fucking say it, Ransom! If you love me, just say it!”

“You will not bully me into saying something that I don’t even deem as important.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Love is a word! Okay? It means nothing. My parents fucking say they love each other, then my dad fucked someone else. Neal and Joni said they loved each other every god damn second that they could but guess what. He still died. And don’t even get me started on Walt and Donna, their “love” created the next great serial killer of this wonderful fucking country!”

You were speechless, Ransom never talked to you like this. He never brought up the fucked-up aspects of his family that had consequently fucked him up as well.

He finally let you go when he realized you weren’t going to say anything, turning to walk away. You startled when he banged his hand against the wall. “God damn it!”

“Why do you make me say it to you then?” you demanded.

“I don’t know!” he admitted.

Again, you were both silent. You were thinking of the best way to respond, and you certainly couldn’t come up with that, but you knew what you wanted to say. “I’m not marrying you.”

He laughed.

It was a terrifying sound that gave you chills. He was going to kill you, you were 90% sure. As soon as he started walking toward you, you turned away to run to the bathroom, but Ransom had always known that would be your plan.

He effortlessly caught you and dragged you back to the bed. He shoved you down, pinned your arms to the mattress to stop you from hitting him, and slid his hips between your legs to make it impossible to kick him. “You’re going to marry me.”

“You’re going to force me to marry you?”

“I’ll drag you to the fucking courthouse if I have to.”

“The courthouse?!”

“I want to give you a wedding, the obscenely priced, overly dramatic show that I know you want. But if you won’t say yes, you leave me no other option.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then I guess that’s what you’ll have to do because my answer is no.”

Luckily for him, your outfit was not overly complex. He knew you weren’t wearing anything under your skirt because his hand was between your legs for most of dinner that night. You didn’t let him make you come because you were throwing a temper tantrum over the situation with the presents, but he was evidently not deterred.

After he moved your wrists together and kept you held there, he used his free hand to get his pants out of the way. In seconds, he was fully inside you and was offering you no time to adjust.

You realized why when you felt his hands moving over your head. Turning up that way, you saw him fumbling with the box. He was going to put the ring on your finger, and you had the sinking suspicion you might not be able to part with it if you saw it. But no, this was not happening.

You managed to get one of your hands free and yanked on his hair.

He kissed you because he had nothing left to do but bite your lip. Hard. He didn’t even falter when you cried out.

He was the idiot who let you keep your shoes on and you were limited on where you could get your heel. You did yoga, but you weren’t some contortionist. You had one option, and that was stabbing your heel into the side of his ass, and it was completely his own fault.

Finally, he pulled away and was forced to let you on top, which was the only advantage you needed. You smacked the box off the bed. However, now that he wasn’t overly concerned with holding you to the bed, he could pull your hair until you relented and fell back onto the bed.

He rolled over several times until you were both on the very edge, managing to kick your heels off in the process. He never stopped driving his hips into you, knowing that the only advantage he had was how weak you always got for his cock.

You could hear him reaching around blindly on the floor but with each brush of his skin against your clit, you got less scared about the idea that he would get the ring on you. You knew you didn’t want it. You knew you didn’t want to marry him and there was no way in hell you would willingly say yes, but fuck, you wanted to come.

You touched the side of his face and he finally looked back at you.

“Say yes.”

“Fuck you.” You pulled him down, your lips meeting his. There was blood in the kiss and your lip was throbbing, but you couldn’t care. Not when he was fucking you this violently, this angrily. He’d never fucked you like this before. You were no stranger to Ransom being a cruel lover, but there had never been so much pure wrath.

He had located the box, you could tell when his fingernails stopped clicking against the hardwood floor. You were panicking, not fully thinking through your plans, you just knew you needed to be able to reach the box. You threw all your weight at him and he was barely balanced as it was.

Despite his anger, he still had more of a mind than you—probably because he wanted something out of this, he needed to be mindful to get his way. He basically let you throw him on the floor because he worried about the results if he managed to fall on you.

Instead of retaliating any further, you grabbed his hand and brought it down to your center. He needed no further prompt than that, his thumb began to circle your clit as his other hand grabbed your hip and moved you along the length of his cock.

Where was the box? On his chest, he set this there because he was the cockiest fucking asshole in the world. He saw you eyeing it and smirked. “Go ahead, baby, take it, but you know I’ll fucking stop.”

That was unimaginable. Both hands reached for the one he had on your hip. You continued rolling your hips like it was the last time you were ever going to get to, dragging his hand up to your mouth.

“I swear if you fucking bite me,” he warned.

No, you weren’t going to do that. Yet. You choked yourself on his fingers, stifling all the pathetic sounds that were spilling out from you. Ransom simply enjoyed the show, enjoyed you fucking yourself on his cock, enjoyed you staring at him with those smoky, delicate eyes as you sucked on his fingers.

He stopped touching your clit once he felt you coming. He used that hand to hold you up on your knees and thrust his hips into you punishingly. You were dizzy, disastrously satiated and overstimulated. He finished with a shaking moan, a tell that he was trying to be quiet.

It wasn’t late, the family was undoubtedly aware of what was going on.

He turned down, staring at the place you were still connected. Ransom waited until his cum was spilling out of you and then yanked you back down to take his entire length. If there was anything that Ransom did love in this world it was filling you with his cum and watching it slowly pour out.

You only allowed him to do this several times before you finally bit down on his fingers. His hand lifted from your hip and tore your hair back hard enough that you opened your mouth to yell at him. When he could pull his fingers from your mouth, he wrapped that hand around your neck and pulled you flat down, your chest to his, the ring box trapped between you and him, digging painfully into your ribs.

He slammed you into the wall and you brought your legs up to hook around his waist. “Sorry, daddy, I didn’t mean to bite you.”

“After I get this ring on you, I’m gonna make you call your parents and tell them we’re engaged. And I’m gonna fuck you and make you call me daddy, just to remind your father how much of a daddy’s girl you used to be.”

“Why call when you could Facetime?”

“Then I’m gonna have you choking on my cock, baby, all they need to see is the ring on your finger.” The hand in your hair wedged its way between you and him and he located your clit once more.

It was too much but you knew Ransom wasn’t going to care. Begging him to stop would just provide him enjoyment and that was the last thing you wanted him to have. He kept his other hand around your neck because he knew you would say something that would annoy the fuck out of him if he let you.

When you were coming, his hips were moving once more and his hand abandoned your clit to move the box. You felt it sliding along your skin until it was gone and then you realized he wasn’t holding your neck anymore. He had your left hand held clutched in his and you felt the cold band he was sliding onto your finger.

You couldn’t do much, you had lost and you knew it. But you could leave a few more marks on him, so you latched your free hand onto his shoulder and dragged your nails down his back, and you bit down on his shoulder harder than you probably should have. He was a fucking animal, it seemed like he didn’t care at all. He just wanted to get the ring on you, and once he had, he grabbed your face and shoved you back.

You knew he was trying to get you to look at the ring, but you refused. Your eyes were slammed shut and nothing was going to change that.

He walked you to the bathroom, pulling out to bend you over the counter because he knew you would instinctually lift both hands up to the edge. Once you had, he shoved his cock back inside you and grabbed your jaw to angle your face in the direction of your left hand. “Look at it.”

“Fuck. You!” you growled.

He smacked your ass and even though you shrieked like he was murdering you, you did not open your eyes. He repeated this several times until his own hand was stinging almost unbearably. New plan.

He used his feet to kick your legs apart further and you felt a sharp, sudden slap against your cunt. Your eyes snapped open and a scream tore from your throat. He almost felt bad until he saw your attention on the ring. Was he an ass? Yes. But had he won? Also, yes.

That fucking asshole. His hand dropped to rub over your aching pussy, cock still moving at a painfully fast pace. Ransom was fucking furious and the only way he could take it out on you was by fucking you this way.

You couldn’t say you had any complaints about it. Tomorrow, when you were pretending you couldn’t stand to look at him, you would be bruised and sore everywhere that he had touched you. You would be wet all day thinking about how it happened.

The fucking ring. A huge cushion-cut diamond set in a halo on top of a diamond-encrusted band. It wasn’t simple, it sounded like it, but there was something so beautiful about it. Fuck, you wouldn’t let this ring go unless you were dead. Because he was right. You liked money and diamonds and you were materialistic, and this was from Ransom and you loved everything he gave you. And at the end of it all, even though you were saying no to him, he shoved that ring onto your finger because you were his and that was never going to change.

“Say yes.”

“No.”

“Fine.” He reached for your hand but stopped when he saw you make a fist.

“Try to take this ring from me and I will fucking kill you, Ransom.”

He scoffed. “Great, I’m gonna get my phone to Facetime your parents.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Not yet,” he pointed out. “First, I need to fuck your mouth, but then—”

From outside, the dogs started to bark.

You let your head fall onto the counter and groaned. “I fucking swear, every fucking time we’re fucking—”

He pulled out and rushed from the bathroom.

“Hey!” you called out. “What the hell?”

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered to himself as he searched for where he’d thrown his pants. When had he even gotten them off?

“Ransom?”

“Wait there,” he directed and then he dashed out of the room.

“Excuse you!” It wasn’t like you had much of an option, your legs weren’t working yet, and you were sweating and gross, and bruised and your lip was swollen and clearly bitten.

After several moments, he hadn’t come back. What the hell was he up to? You winced and hummed, made any noise that made you feel slightly better, as you tiptoed around the room looking for something to put on. You settled on one of his shirts and slowly, pathetically made your way downstairs. “Ransom?”

No response.

“Hello, anyone?” If someone else was around, you could force them to look for your boyfriend instead of having to do so yourself. But it seemed that you were out of luck on that.

The dogs were still barking like crazy, but why was no one else reacting? And why did Ransom care? He never paid attention to the dogs. You followed the sound of their barking, they had moved from the backyard to the side of the house. Which was odd because they never went there.

The garage? Your suspicions were confirmed when you heard Linda complaining about something, being constantly interrupted by Joni, Walt, and Ransom. Okay, again, unusual. He tended to ignore his mother, not argue with her.

His eyes widened when he saw you in the doorway. “No, no, this has to stop. I need everyone out of this room.”

“What the hell is going on?” you questioned.

“We don’t want to alarm you,” Donna began, “But—”

“Pretty sure he has drugs,” Meg claimed. “Like, hardcore drugs. Heroin, probably.”

Your eyes widened at him.

He glared. “I don’t have drugs, don’t be ridiculous.”

You gasped, pointing in the direction of the dogs still barking outside. “Those are German Shepherds, they’re drug dogs!”

Meg gasped, nodding at you with wide eyes. “I’m calling the cops.”

“Knock it off,” Linda scolded. “Ransom, show us what you’re hiding right now, or we’ll tear this room apart.”

He rolled his eyes, storming over to the corner of the room where a sheet was laid over something. “Fine, merry fucking Christmas.” He yanked it off one of the old kennels Linda used for her dogs when they were being trained.

There was a long list of things you were suspecting to see. Three sleeping puppies? No, they were nowhere on the list. And then you realized that was why he hadn’t gone to pick up Jacob’s present.

“You got me more puppies?” Linda inquired.

You, along with most of the room, glared at her.

“No,” Ransom snapped. “One is for Jacob and one’s for Meg.”

Both Jacob and Meg excitedly ran to the cage, startling the puppies awake. Much to Ransom’s dismay, the baby talk began without a second thought and the puppies were whining and making those small noises that always irritated him.

One for Jacob. One for Jacob. Then…the third. Oh, god.

He turned to you with a sigh.

“Yes,” you said, “Yes, yes, a million times yes!” You ran across the room, ignoring all your aching limbs and threw yourself into his arms. “And I’ll stop being so mean to you, and if you want to do this at the courthouse, I won’t even be upset because you’re so good to me and I’m awful to you. I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” he assured.

“No,” you protested. “It’s a million times not okay! I’m so sorry.” You pulled back to touch his face. “I’m really, really sorry. But I’m going to be the best wife in the world—”

“What?” Joni cut in.

That was the only thing in the world that could have drawn attention away from the puppies.

“Wife?” Linda repeated.

You checked with Ransom and he nodded. He had been looking forward to this. All you had to do was hold out your hand and Joni and Meg were excitedly shrieking. There hadn’t been a wedding in the family in so long.

“Wow,” Walt said. “Ransom? Engaged, showing commitment? This is the strangest year I’ve ever lived.”

Ransom rolled his eyes.

Before another word could be said, Linda collapsed onto the floor. Richard and Walt were the only ones who felt alarmed at the situation, while everyone else moved in closer to see the puppies.

“Which one is ours?” you wondered.

“Yours,” he corrected. “And the blonde one. She was the least yappy I could find on such short notice.”

Your eyebrows pulled together. “Where did you go?”

“The pound, obviously.”

“I fucking love you,” you blurted out, grabbing his face to pull him down into a kiss.

Once again, the room echoed with disgusted sounds.

“Which one’s mine?” Meg wondered.

“I couldn’t care less,” he admitted.

“I’m gonna name mine Hugh,” Jacob announced.

Ransom gave you an expectant look.

“I love you?” you tried.

“Gonna need a lot more than that.” He picked you up and because you knew Ransom wasn’t going to accept any kind of attitude from you for a very long time, you hooked your legs and arms around him and willingly went.

“I’ll take care of your dog until you guys are done being gross!” Meg promised.

chris tags:

@onetwo3000​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @donutloverxo​ @kleohoneyao3​ @cevans-fics​

ransom tags:

@la-cey​

[kiranatrix]

INDULGENCE—

a MikaLight fanfic by @kiranatrix and @my-one-true-l for @mikalightweek [Day 4- Devotion]

Summary: When Mikami realizes he’s being followed by an FBI agent, he informs Kiyomi right away. Light meets Mikami alone in the confessional of a decrepit church to hear the details for himself and requests a test of the man’s loyalty.

Rating: T for mild gore and innuendo

Teaser under the cut or read the whole fic here!

The young woman sat alone, quietly avoiding the eyes of the other passengers, but it wasn’t enough to stave off the unwanted attention from the man who had set his sights on her. There was no escaping the unwanted advances in the confines of the train. It would take nothing more than a few swiftly written strokes to bring the perpetrator to his rightful death, but Teru Mikami couldn’t do that under the circumstances. Instead, the Death Note remained in the safety of his briefcase as he exited the train and vanished into the crowd, a casual glance over his shoulder confirmed what he had suspected for days…

He was being followed. He was good with faces, and when the same one recurred in the most unlikely of places, this time sitting across him on the train, he decided it was time to pay attention to the name hovering just above the man’s head.

Stephen Loud. That would be easy enough to remember until he was home and could find the answers he already knew. Coincidences happen, but the more likely scenario was he was suspected to have connections to Kira and if that was the case…Kami was in danger.

As he approached his apartment, a nonchalant scan of his surrounding put him at ease. Mr. Loud was nowhere in the immediate vicinity, though Teru was not about to dismiss that which could be out of his sight.

He wasted no time using his good name and contacts to discover that he was being pursued by none other than an FBI agent. The blood drained from his face as it all sunk in. He had little concern for his own fate. It was Kami he worried for. There was no way of knowing how long he had been being tailed nor could he be certain of the extent he had been investigated.

Keeping this to himself would not do. He had to warn Kira, even if it meant falling out of his good graces.

Takada. I need to talk to her.

Looking up her number was unnecessary. He had memorized his only lifeline to Kira the day he was chosen. With trembling fingers, he dialed and waited impatiently for her to answer.

Kiyomi Takada was in the back of her limousine, heading to the television studio, when her phone rang in her purse. It’s HIS ringtone. She quickly leaned forward and pressed the button to bring up the dark-tinted glass (and soundproof) partition between her and the driver, then immediately answered the call. “Kiyomi here.” There was a hint of annoyance in her voice-- she’d specifically told Mikami not to call her during the day. It was difficult enough to secure complete privacy at night. However, she was in luck in this instance-- her driver was loyal to Kira. Still, she whispered, “This better be an emergency.”

“I wouldn’t call otherwise.” Teru had a million thoughts swarming his mind and only a split second to sift through them. “I’m being followed.”

Kiyomi’s breath caught, and she nearly broke her ladylike facade and swore. She shifted the cell phone to perch between her cheek and her shoulder as she rummaged in her purse for pen and paper. “Followed by who and for how long? I need their name and where you’ve been seen.” She clicked the pen and poised it above the paper. “I’ll have to tell him right away.”

Teru drew a deep breath before he spoke. “An FBI agent by the name of Stephen Loud. I noticed him a few days ago, mostly around my gym and a few times outside of court, but today he sat across from me on the train ride home, so I can only assume he knows where I live as well.”

“FBI!” Kiyomi’s pen trembled ink onto the paper until she pressed it down firmly, trying to ground herself. This was news of the worst kind-- the FBI was working with the SPK here in Japan, and if they had sussed out that Mikami was working with Kira, Light would be very unhappy with that exposure. Mikami’s value had been in his anonymity. And Mikami has Kira’s power! “This is...unexpected. Did you happen to get a picture of him? Or find one you can send to me? I can pass that information on and we’ll take care of it.” She took a deep breath and carefully wrote down the details that Mikami had relayed.

Teru could feel Kiyomi’s displeasure on every word she spoke, certain it would only worsen with what he was about to say. “No, I didn’t, nor was there a photograph of him accompanying his file. Careful measures have been taken to conceal his face. It would seem I’m the only one who knows what he looks like.”

“I see.” Kiyomi frowned and wrote ‘no picture’ on the notepad, underlining it angrily. “I suppose that’s what we should expect from the FBI, but it makes things difficult.” She glanced out the window, seeing that she was almost at the TV station. “I’ll speak to him and call you back. Stay by the phone, alright?” She didn’t wait for an answer before hanging up and immediately calling Light on his secure line. Shit shit shit… He picked up on the sixth ring, which meant he’d probably had to duck out of something with his team.

“Yes?” Light was on his guard-- it was very unusual that Kiyomi would call him rather than the reverse. He didn’t have long either, just the duration of a normal bathroom break. “You know how I feel about personal calls at work, love.”

“I know, but I just spoke with the caterer, dear.” Kiyomi knew better than to ever use any of their real names. Even if the phone lines were ‘secure,’ Light didn’t trust it when he was with the Task Force. “He’s run into a snag on our order.”

Light stayed quiet for a moment but understood her meaning perfectly fine. Mikami was in some kind of trouble, and it was bad enough for Kiyomi to call him right away instead of waiting for one of their usual meetings. “Oh? Surely it’s nothing that can’t be resolved. Send me the invoice tonight.” Send me their name and face.

Kiyomi sighed and said, “Seems like the invoice is missing some items. Only the caterer knows it.” She drummed her long red nails on the armrest nervously. “Secret recipe.”

Hmm. Light knew that meant that either the name or a picture of the person’s face was missing, and since Mikami had shinigami eyes, it was likely the face. “Remind me, dear, was this a rush order?” Is this an emergency?

“Yes. I’d really hate to call off this party.”

So, something that can’t be ignored. “I understand. Perhaps I should meet with the caterer myself and work out the details? I’ll text you the place. 11 o’clock?”

Kiyomi knew that wasn’t really a question, it was an order. Light wanted to meet Mikami and hear about this for himself. “Of course. I’ll set it up for 11.” A dial tone hung in the air as soon as she agreed. She stared down at her phone and waited for the text.

Send the caterer to Saint Joseph’s. He’ll need to confess the recipe.

Kiyomi deleted the text right away, then called Mikami back.

Teru paced his living room, eyes fixed on the phone he clutched in his hand. He wasn’t one to drink, but tonight it was harder to fight the lure of his liquor cabinet, sparse in contents as it may be. Kira had caused him more restless nights than he would ever admit, but this was an entirely new kind of torment. He had failed his god, inadvertent as it may have been. Intention didn’t matter and had no place in his shame.

Each second that passed equaled two until the phone rang, answering it with a simple rushed response. “Yes?”

“He wants to meet with you. Alone.” Kiyomi hoped Light knew what he was doing, but she certainly wasn’t going to question Kira’s decision. “There’s an old church in the warehouse district, down by the docks. Saint Joseph’s. It’s open all night and the priest is half-blind, drunk most nights. No one will see you.” She knew the place well and had met Light there a few times herself. “Go into the confessional and wait for him. 11 o’clock.” She paused for a moment and added softly, “Make absolutely sure you’re not followed. He’s trusting your discretion.”

He wants to meet with you alone.

The words sent a shiver down Teru’s spine. He swallowed hard at the thought. Meeting Kami. Never had he dared to dream of being fortunate enough to have such an honor, and though the circumstances weren’t ideal, Teru couldn’t deny that he was thrilled at the notion. Even if this meeting could mean the end of his life, everything up to now would have been worth it to be in Kami’s presence. “I can give you my assurances. I will not be followed.”

Disappointing Kami again was out of the question.

“Good luck.” Kiyomi hung up the phone and texted Light, ‘caterer booked.’ She’d be nervous for the rest of the day but there was also relief-- it was out of her hands. If Light needed something, he’d ask. I just hope I’m still as useful after he meets Mikami. Walking into the television studio to again act as Kira’s spokesperson, she knew she was, for now.

Read the rest on AO3 here.

[stark-tony]

tododeku fic recs

* = incomplete

meet you again someday (after we take the long way ’round) by theroyalsavage

summary: Midoriya Izuku's life is saved by a boy with the strongest Quirk he has ever seen. 

Eventually - inevitably - he falls in love.(An AU in which Todoroki never attends UA, they never clash at the sports festival, but they come together all the same.)

pairings: tododeku

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

that is just the way by celestialfics

summary:  Shouto has his first sleepover.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: none

what is right and what is easy by theroyalsavage

summary: Midoriya Izuku is not chosen to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament. He does not slay a dragon, or rescue innocents, or brave a maze of dark magic. He does not win accolades, or fame, or glory.

Instead, Izuku meets the son of the greatest dark wizard of the age, a Durmstrang student with hair like a sunrise and eyes like a war. And maybe, he just might win something else.

pairings: tododeku, kiribaku, tsuchako

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: none

First Time For Everything by kazzarole

summary: Midoriya is the catalyst of many of the 'firsts' in Shouto's life--it just makes sense that Shouto should share his first kiss with him, too.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: none

alone together by celestialfics

summary:  Five times when other Class 1-A kids notice Todoroki and Midoriya in their own world.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: none

A Simple Warmth by patster223

summary: “I’m trying to make Todoroki a sweater for his birthday, but…” Izuku pokes at the tangle of yarn. “It’s more complicated than I thought it would be.”

In which Izuku sucks at knitting, his classmates are eager to help out, Todoroki finally gets to be cozy, and knitting is a vector for romance.

pairings: tododeku

tags: 

warnings: none

Conventional Taste by WowBoring

summary: He didn’t think it would matter if Midoriya were taking him to a sewer convention; it was probably still going to be the highlight of his Golden Week.

In order to avoid a visit from his unpleasant grandparents Todoroki attends a hero convention with Midoriya, and learns a few things along the way.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff

warnings: abuse

pls respond by Esselle

summary: 'Midoriya: UR SO CUTE

Shouto chokes on nothing. How is he supposed to respond to that? Is he supposed to respond at all?

Midoriya: Look at your big head aaaaaaaaaaaaah Midoriya: *Image Attached*

Oh, Shouto thinks. He was talking about Shouto's Nitotan, which is now smashed to one of Izuku's cheeks in the image Izuku just sent, as Izuku squeezes it joyfully. Even if Izuku wasn't talking to him directly, the butterflies in Shouto's stomach feel a bit joyful, too.

He types out: I wish I were that Nitotan right now. Then he snorts, and erases it.'

--

Izuku has a wide variety of special moves, but his Key Smash might be the most powerful of all.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

i can keep a secret, could you? by handcrusher (ameliafromafairytale)

summary: The last thing Todoroki wants is for his father to figure out that 1) he's gay and 2) he's dating the boy he's supposed to overcome as a hero. So, he and Midoriya devise a plan.

Just how long can they keep it up?

pairings: tododeku, tsuchako, momojirou

tags: 

warnings: 

hold on tight by lunalou

summary: "What are you doing?" Shouto asks.

"Hugging you." Midoriya returns in a patient voice. His arms tighten around Shouto's waist and he presses his forehead more firmly against his back. "You know it's a hug, Shouto-kun. Don't play dumb."

or, five times somebody from 1-a hugs todoroki and the one time he hugs them first

pairings: tododeku

tags: 

warnings: 

If I'm Being Honest.... by I_dont_know_man

summary: Midoriya scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Uh, Shouto, why are you glaring at me like that?”

“I-” Todoroki began to lie, until nausea slammed him like a door to any room that Bakugou entered. “I--” Todoroki grit his teeth, and glared daggers into the wall behind Midoriya. Goodbye, friendship. It had been absolutely divine while it lasted. “Because you’re very attractive.”

They say honesty is the best policy, but it sure as hell had a knack for Todoroki making a complete and utter fool of himself. 

  In which Todoroki is placed under a mysterious truth-telling quirk and suffers, Uraraka laughs at him, Midoriya is confused but smitten nonetheless, and Twitter is the thirstiest site on the planet.

pairings: tododeku, kiribaku

tags: humor, fluff

warnings: 

Guiding Light by furihatachlookie

summary:  It was his mother's idea to enroll him at the local elementary school. His father believed a private tutor was better, but nobody can argue with a mother who's made up her mind, and a balanced exposure to kids his own age sways his father's judgement enough to agree and sign the papers.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: 

Todoroki and Yaoyorozu's Elite Study Club by hanwritesstuff (hannahkannao)

summary: “Well, as I see it, we have two options.” Shouto holds up two fingers. “We can either ignore this and pretend it never happened or... not.” He doesn't know which one he wants. “What does not entail, exactly?” Yaoyorozu asks. “...I don't know.”

In which Todoroki accidentally learns something about Yaoyorozu, Yaoyorozu accidentally learns something about Todoroki, and they spend a considerable portion of their study sessions... not studying.s

pairings: tododeku, momojirou

tags: fluff, humor

warnings:

Do What You Will, If That's What You Want by stanzas

summary: “What do you mean you’re retiring?” Bakugou asks nicely, or at least as nicely as someone like Bakugou can ask. The question is phrased more like a demand.“

Call it a mid-life crisis,” Shouto answers, like Bakugou asked him what the weather would be tomorrow, and takes a deep sip from his coffee. “I’m thinking of changing careers.”

The world of heroes is quick to adapt to surprises, but Pro Hero Entropy’s (very premature) retirement announcement throws almost everyone for a pretty impressive loop.

pairings: tododeku

tags: hurt/comfort, angst, humor

warnings:

extra, extra! by rythyme (pugglemuggle)

summary: Shouto & Creati: ACTUALLY Dating?! by Hitachi Hitomi at September 18, 2047 3:42 pm."Ever since heartthrob 

Todoroki Shouto and the Everything Hero "Creati" made their official debuts, the two 22-year-old heroes have been nothing but professional towards each other. But was this all a sham to cover up the truth?" 

Or: The media thinks Shouto and Creati are dating. Hint: they aren't. A multimedia TodoDeku & MomoJirou fanfic told through news articles, gossip columns, twitter, tumblr, text messages, and more.

pairings: tododeku, momojirou

tags: fluff, humor

warnings:

you broke the dark and my whole earth shook by aloneintherain

summary:  Shouto had imagined himself as the country’s top hero for decades. Endeavour had put those images in his head when he was a child, and they had stayed there, growing like a fungus, until Shouto had reached adulthood. Even now, he was only just beginning to realise he didn’t have to live his life according to almost thirty-year-old decisions made by his abuser. He could do more. Be more. Outside of the hero community.

Izuku gets a job offer in America. Somehow, this brings Shouto and Izuku closer than ever before.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings:

count your blessings, not your flaws by PitViperOfDoom

summary:  Midoriya Izuku has never been asked out, confessed to, or flirted with, except as a joke.

pairings: tododeku

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: bullying

call the fire department (i'm burning up with love) by Edgedancer

summary:  An (abridged) list of things Todoroki Shouto did not have before U.A.: Loud neighbors. Fire alarms. Friends. Midoriya Izuku.

pairings: tododeku

tags:

warnings:

long nights and daydreams by dreamtowns

summary: According to the public, Pro Heroes Deku and Entropy are an amazing Hero Duo, best friends, and the most eligible bachelors in the world. According to their fans, they’re head over heels in love with one another yet oblivious to the others’ feelings. According to their friends and family, they’ve been in love with one another since high school, but, for reasons unknown to them, refuse to act upon said feelings.

According to said heroes, they have been (secretly) married for six years.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: 

extra-salty/twitter-verse series by SportsAnimeRuinedMyLife (KnightOfRage)

summary:  In his third year at UA, Todoroki Shouto works in a burger place, catches on fire and falls in love. Only two of those things are on purpose.

Or...Todoroki Shouto's exciting adventures in customer service.

part one of the extra salty/twitter-verse

pairings: tododeku, kiribaku

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

More Than Skin-Deep by Emmeri

summary: It was a fact, really. That he was ugly. Having a scar which takes up half his face kind of does that, in Todoroki's eyes. So why does he overhear the girls call him the class pretty boy?

He'll just have to ask Midoriya about it; he has too little filter to tell anything but the truth.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: 

Your Biggest Fan by Latios

summary: He opens the bag on the floor to see what could have been left in there-- and promptly freezes, staring at the contents inside.

“Midoriya.” He calls.

“Hm?”

“You bought our hero merch?”

~

Aka, Class 1-A starts to see themselves appear on merchandise in their local stores. Todoroki tries not to buy things, and fails.

pairings: tododeku

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: 

Marry The Mole by Haurvatat

summary: “You're going to break up with him before he can propose.”

The hands went down and the steel wall of Midoriya's entire being went up. “...Excuse me?”

“And in return-” Enji gritted his teeth, “-I will deposit 20 million yen in your checking account.”

-

The gay drama fic based on a tumblr post absolutely zero people wanted to see but YOU'RE GETTING ANYWAY

pairings: tododeku

tags: humor

warnings: 

ascended fanboy by aloneintherain

summary: “I want to honour them,” Izuku said softly. “When I cosplay, I just want people to see how amazing these heroes are.”

Shouto brushed a thumb over his cheek, careful not to smudge his makeup. “They do. I promise.”

Or: Izuku and Shouto attend HeroCon, five years post-graduation.

pairings: tododeku

tags: 

warnings: 

[delta-roseblr]

Lol, all the new info about the solangelo and delix kids made me want to have a fic just about them. So I was wondering if that would be possible? xD

Hello, Anon!

I know it has been forever since you sent this prompt, but it wasn't forgotten!

I hope this is worth the wait

_____________________________________________________

The Kids

· Because Solangelo and Delix both set down in California, Solangelo in New Rome and Delix stays in Northern California; they see each other a lot, as do their kids.

· The fact that Michael and Lee (Nico and Will's twins) and Mason (Felix and Dean's son) are a little more than a year apart just added to their drive to get together as a family. The kids could entertain each other, and they always got along well. The twins were challenging to entertain when they were little, so this is a big deal.

· Will and Dean always figured the three of them would always get along because, well, that was how they were, but Nico and Felix had their doubts. They figured that as the three got older and if (when) the twins started showing their demigod powers that they would drift.

· Nico and Felix turned out to be completely wrong, and the three just got closer as they got older.

· You would think, since Mason is the oldest of the three, he would take on the leadership role in the group, but that isn't how it works out. Mason is a pretty even-keeled kid. He definitely got Dean's tendency to want to put his head down and do his work. He can and does take the leadership role during team things like sports but not when the twins are involved.

· The twins are a damn handful from the moment they are born, and they never really change. Both of them are outgoing in their own ways. Lee is more competitive and will jump at the opportunity to take on a challenge, while Michael is more social- he can (and will) start a conversation with pretty much anyone he meets. The two are also a perfect storm of trouble because Michael will come up with an idea like they should buy fake ids and sneak into a club, and Lee will view it as a challenge, so he wants to do it, and they will absolutely find a way to talk Mason into joining them. Mason definitely tries his hardest to keep them out of trouble and manages to be at least somewhat successful sixty-five percent of the time.

· The twins love showing up at Mason's mortal school events, so even though they do not go there, most of Mason's classmates recognize them. They are also pretty much honorary members of Mason's lacrosse team. While Mason gives them shit for being menaces, he really likes when they show up, it definitely stops things from getting boring.

· Mason visits New Roman as well, even though not as much because going to New Roman can be a process as a mortal going to New Roman. Still, he has teamed up with the twins and a few of the other children of the seven around their age to case a little harmless trouble on the weekend.

· Btw, Dean has had several conversations with a teenage Mason about precisely what to do if he finds himself being hit on by a horny god (with very specific things to say to Apollo or Dionysus). Mason considers these the most embarrassing conversations he has ever had with his days. It's bad enough that his middle-aged dads still act like teenagers half the time and CAN'T keep their hands off each other. He doesn't want to hear about how Greek gods had tried to bone them back in the day. Grandpa Solace jumping in with "Just remember, Apollo isn't nearly as good in bed as he claims, and you can take my word for it" doesn't help with the awkwardness. He would rather have to go through the birds and bees talk a million times over.

· All three of these boys are NOT STRAIGHT. Michael is gay, while both Lee and Mason are bisexual. It's hard to say that Michael or Lee "came out" because it happened so organically. There was no sit everyone down and tell them moment. Instead, it was just "I LIKE like that boy" or "that boy is really cute" when they were like twelve. Mason takes FOREVER to admit this to himself and even longer to admit it to anyone else. Michael and Lee KNOW way before Mason admits to anything, and neither of them lets him hid from it. Lee tries the comforting approach hoping Mason will admit it while Michael goes more the exposure therapy route- he'll point out cute guys and ask what Mason thinks. He tricked Mason into going to a few gay events without Mason knowing until it was too late to back out.

· FYI, Mason comes out to Lee first, but only because they get into a fight because Lee is flirting with a boy; Mason secretly has a massive crush on (or at least he thinks it's a secret, but everyone can tell). Michael is solidly pissed about this for months, but that doesn't stop him from trying to play matchmaker.

Dribble:

The rain had stopped, and Mason supposed he should have been happy about that, but the lingering sense of tension and danger made it hard to appreciate. He, Michael, and Lee had already walked one block north of Gypsy Bar, and Mason was hoping as they put even more distance between themselves and the bar that sense of unease would dissipate at least a little.

They had been walking in silence for several minutes. That was a rare thing, and Mason hoped it meant that it was one of those rare occasions that his cousins were thinking about how horrible their idea had been, but Lee killed that hope the moment he opened his mouth.

"Well, we had to try," Lee declared.

Mason looked over and up because, of course, Lee was at least three inches taller than him. That would have been more annoying if Mason was at all insecure about his height, but at six foot he was comfortable. Also, he had a couple of inches on Michael, which helped.

Lee's hair looked practically white instead of its usual light blonde under the street lights' harsh glare, and his complexion seemed extra fair. Even his freckles were lost in the artificial light. Not surprisingly, there wasn't a single sign of worry on his face.

Maybe if Mason had Greek god powers, he would have been relaxed too, but he didn't. That call for adventure that Lee and Michael had just seemed like asking for trouble to Mason, the mere mortal. "Not with the worse fake IDs in history," Mason pointed out yet again.

"They were not that bad!" Michael was quick to defend.

This was not the first time Mason had heard that, and it didn't make it any less ridiculous. One of Michael and Lee's dads was literally a doctor that could heal people by touching them. There was no fucking excuse for their inability to see what was right in front of them. Why Michael had even bought the IDs, having seen them, Mason would never understand.

"They looked like they were hand-drawn by a preschool," Mason pointed out, "And the names were ridiculous."

"Pictures didn't look much like us," Lee agreed.

Michael let out a long, loud sigh, pushed a dark strand of hair that had fallen out of his ponytail and into his eye line, and tucked it behind his ear. While Lee looked like the stereotypical California surfer dude, Michael almost looked Mediterranean. He had light brown hair that he had grown out over the last year and now almost exclusively wore tied up, and he naturally had a more tan, almost olive complexion. Even with the differences, it was impossible not to recognize the two as twins immediately. They both had the same sharp facial features, lean and athletic builds, and light blue eyes.

Mason was the obvious odd man out in the group. His hair was somewhere between a light brown and a dark blonde, and his eyes were hazel rather than blue. His build was boxier, and he was definitely wider in the shoulders than his cousins, but that might have been because he had been playing lacrosse since he was eight. His facial features were also a little more square and angular. It might not have been a stretch to believe the three of them were related, but no one was going to mistake them for triplets.

"Okay, that is enough with the pouting," Michael declared with just a little bit of annoyance in his voice. Mason was a little surprised it had taken that long because usually, the more outrageous and destined to fail one of Michael's plans were, the more annoyed he got when it did, in fact, fail. "At least we got a fun story out of it," he stated.

Knowing Michael, he really did see that as a win which was crazy. Mason fucking loved his cousins. They were literally his best friends and really always had been, but sometimes they were crazy to be around. Mason put that on all the demigod stuff. After all, if you have literally trained to fight monsters since you were a little kid getting fake IDs and trying to sneak into a twenty-one and over club probably didn't sound all that crazy.

Mason wasn't exactly a fucking nun. Sneaking into a bar didn't sound completely crazy but trying to get into a bar known for checking IDs with comically bad fake IDs did.

"We are lucky they didn't call the police," Mason pointed out flatly. The bouncer had decided to take pity on them for some reason after giving them one hell of a fucking lecture, and Mason would forever be grateful. "Or worse, our parents," he added with a shutter.

"What are you worried about?" Lee asked with a laugh, "Uncle Dean and Uncle Felix would have been totally cool."

Mason gave Lee a serious look. "Nothing about my parents is cool," he stated firmly, "No matter how many people say otherwise."

"You really are a master of denial," Lee commented teasingly before patting his shoulder and adding, "It's kind of impressive."

The fact was Mason was well aware that his dads were pretty cool. If they had been called and told Mason had been caught with a fake ID trying to sneak into a bar, they probably wouldn't have even yelled at him. Neither of them were big yellers. Mason would have gotten one hell of a disapproving lecture which Mason was convinced was worse than yelling ever could be. He definitely would have lost a whole bunch of privileges for the foreseeable future.

Unfortunately, Mason had been hearing about how cool his dads were since he could remember. The fact that Felix getting early releases of video games all the time helped. Dean always bringing Mason and his friends for ice cream after practice when he was younger didn't hurt. As he got older, he just became the one with the cool parents in all his friend groups. It got old after a while, and that was before the term DILF started getting thrown around.

He would have been more annoyed if it was anyone besides Lee and Michael. They had it just as bad as he did, even if it was slightly different. Uncle Nico was practically a legion among Demigods for all the questing he did as a teenager, and even if he had just sat on his ass, he was still the son of Hades, which was a big thing. Uncle Will didn't have the history with all the questing, but he played an important role in some battle, which was enough to give him some fame. The twins had to deal with their fair share of people going full-on hero-worship over their dads, and then there was the fact that Uncle Nico had worked as a model for like five years.

Mason might not have been truly pissed off, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to flip Lee off for that comment. He did grin as he did it, at least so it was clear that it was all good.

They had walked about half a block as they had talked, and they made it about a block more in silence before Michael huffed. "So what are we going to do now?" he asked. Mason went to answer but barely got an opportunity to take a breath before Michael held up a finger to cut him off. "And the answer of going home is not allowed, so just don't even say it," he stated firmly.

Mason didn't get why going home, playing video games, ordering a pizza, and hanging out was such a bad idea. His dads were out on a date night, so they probably would have had the house to themselves, not that that mattered. According to Michael, that was just not an acceptable way for them to spend their evening, and in fairness, he had made that clear before then. That didn't mean that wasn't exactly what Mason had been prepared to suggest, but he wasn't really surprised that Michael warned him not to before he got a chance.

Mason stopped and looked around to get a feel for where they were. Since they were in West Berkeley, it was more his stomping ground rather than the twins. If it were New Rome, the twins would have a list of places they could go and things they could do, so he guessed it was on him to at least come up with one suggestion.

If he was honest, he only had a vague idea of where they were, and it wasn't a part of the city he visited often, so he didn't have the best idea of what was around. Ultimately, he went with the first thing that came to mind. "There is a really cool vintage bookstore like two blocks from here," he stated, pointing in the direction he thought it was.

It might have been the first thing he had thought of, but Mason didn't think it was a half-bad idea. He had been to the place a few times with Dean because Dean had a radar for little bookstores, and it didn't matter what they were doing or where they were supposed to be; he had to go in. It was such a well-known fact that Felix always looked up where bookstores were when they went on vacation so they could plan when they went. The little bookstore that Mason couldn't remember the name of had actually been pretty cool.

"You found an answer worse than go home," Michael commented flatly, "Why do you hurt me like this?"

Mason rolled his eyes because now Michael was just overdramatic. "They serve coffee and stuff," he informed.

"Coffee actually sounds pretty fucking good," Lee admitted, which was a good sign. Of the two, Michael always wanted to do something big and over-the-top. Lee could be like that sometimes, but he was more likely to see reason when Michael was just suggesting something crazy. Usually, if Mason could get Lee on his side, he had a chance. If Lee backed Michael's idea, then it was only a matter of time before Mason agreed to whatever insanity had been planned.

Michael stared between Mason and Lee with clear disapproval. "We can not go from trying to sneak into a 21 and over club to drinking coffee in a used bookstore," he stated with disgust before just shaking his head with disappointment, "Honestly, what is wrong with you two?"

"Okay," Lee declared, managing to sound just as unamused by Michael as Michael was with them. Lee was infinitely better at dealing with his brother when he was being dramatic than Mason was. "How about we go into that pizza place-" he pointed past Mason toward a small pizza place just across the street from where they were standing, "-and talk to the cute girls that are walking in."

"Well, that doesn't sound like fun for me!" Michael grumbled as he turned and assessed the option for a split second. "Oh, there is a couple of boys that could be cute! I don't hate that idea."

Mason gave in and turned to see what they were talking about and immediately wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "Oh my god, could you too stop staring," he hissed as he turned his back on the scene and hoped no one saw him.

They should have gone to New Rome.

Of course, both Michael and Lee were staring at him, and he knew they were going to ask. Neither of them was precisely known for letting things go either.

"What?" Mason shrugged, sounding more defensive than he meant to, "They are people from my school."

Michael and Lee exchanged a look that was never a good thing. It was one of those weird twin silent communication things they would do, and it usually meant they were about to tag team, Mason. It never worked out well.

"You know them?" Michael asked, although he managed to give the question far more weight than such a simple question should have had.

Lee was even less subtle as he stared at Mason with obvious suspicion, "How come we don't know them?"

Obviously, Michael and Lee didn't go to Mason's high school because they were in New Rome, but they hung around with Mason enough that they knew all of Mason's school friends and a fair number of his classmates. It wasn't necessarily weird that they didn't know someone that Mason knew from school, but it was a more rare occurrence. On this specific occasion, it actually made a lot of sense because they were people Mason only recently started getting to know.

"It looked like Theo and a few of the other kids from the theater club," Mason explained. Mason was not a theater kid. Even if he had wanted to be, he never would have had time with lacrosse and soccer. Since he was a junior and apparently would benefit from diversifying his afterschool activities (so saith his guidance counselor), he joined the AV club and somehow ended up helping with the school play, so he got to know some of the theater kids over the last few months. Not a big deal in the slightest. "And for the record, you two aren't entitled to know all my school friends," he pointed out just to prove a point.

Michael and Lee exchanged another look.

"Theo?" Lee questioned.

"Interesting," Michael commented.

Mason's heart jumped into his throat. Had he said that name? He hadn't meant to, but it must have just slipped out. He was absolutely fucked because the twins weren't going to let that go, and that was the last thing Mason needed. Theo was just a dude with great hair that made Mason feel weird sometimes, and he didn't want to talk about that.

Play it cool, Mason told himself through his internal panic. He shrugged, which felt like the most unnatural gesture ever. "He hangs out with a lot of the AV kids helping with the play," he explained. More accurately, he hung around many band kids helping with the play, and Mason had to adjust the audio equipment a fair amount. After talking a few times, Mason may have invited him to hang out with the AV kids, and the guy took him up on that. There was no fucking way he was telling Lee and Michael that story. "I've learned his name. It isn't a big deal," he stated. That at least was true, and no one would convince Mason otherwise.

Michael and Lee were silent for a long moment, just staring at him before Michael broke the silence. "You know what? Pizza sounds fantastic," He declared before turning on his heels and starting across the street. He was halfway across before he called over his shoulder, "And I love a good theater club. Always fun gays."

Lee patted Mason on the shoulder, which turned into him practically pushing Mason forward toward the pizza shop. "So, which one is Theo exactly," Lee asked in a mischievous tone.

Now Mason wished their wrong fake IDs had worked.

[katelynnwrites]

pairing: Ezra Bridger x f!Reader

warnings: mentions of blood and injury as well as canonical tyle violence

word count: 1024

summary: Ezra wakes up from his bacta treatment in an unexpected state

A/N: set after season 4 finale

Febuwhump Prompt: ‘Who are you?’ (Day 12)

It was almost unbelievable, the sense of relief you had when you found Ezra’s unconscious body on the wreck of the Chimaera. He had been severely injured, cuts all over from the shattered glass, a blaster wound on his shoulder and hypothermia from exposure to space but he was​ alive.

The doctors at the medcenter had been amazed that he was still breathing, calling it a miracle. Sabine had just smiled and looking over at you, said it was simply Ezra keeping his promise to always come back to you.

You had honestly thought that everything was going to be okay from then on. Lothal was no longer being controlled by the Empire, Ezra’s injuries had been healed by an extensive stretch of time spent floating around in a bacta tank and the once invincible Empire had recently begun to fracture.

Until Ezra woke up and his first words were ‘Who are you?’

You had been sitting by his bedside, as you had been doing everyday since you had found him.

At first you didn’t notice anything had changed until his hand twitched on top of his covers.

Holding your breath, you watched as his eyelashes fluttered and his blue eyes met yours for the first time in a long long time.

‘Ezra?��� You softly say.

His eyes were wide and he frantically looked around the room.

‘Who are you?’

‘It’s me Y/n. I’m your girlfriend Ezra.’ You explain, your heart beating fast. He didn’t remember you?

‘I don’t have a girlfriend. Where am I?’ He says, his voice rising.

The door opens and the rest of the crew come in. Their faces light up and Hera smiles widely.

‘Ezra! You’re awake.’

Sabine immediately goes over to hug him and he flinches away.

‘He doesn’t remember us.’ Your voice cracks and tears fill your eyes as you look back at the blue haired boy. What if this was permanent? What if he never remembered you?

Zeb goes to get the doctor while Hera takes you out of the room. Sabine and Chopper stayed with Ezra who was understandably freaking out.

‘It is probably temporary Y/n. The doctors will sort it out.’ She reasons, rubbing circles into your back as you sob.

‘I can't lose him again Hera.’ Your voice trembles and Hera winces, remembering those few hours that they had searched for Ezra. You had barely held yourself together.

‘You won’t lose him Y/n. He loves you too much to leave you without putting up a good fight.’ Hera firmly tells you.

You let loose a shuddering breath and scrub the remaining tears from your face.

‘Okay.’

******

‘It’s likely a side effect of the long period of time he spent in bacta. It should resolve itself within a rotation.’ The medical droid explains, causing the entire crew to relax.

You feel hope well in your heart as you enter Ezra’s room. The boy was fiddling with the edges of his covers and looked up at you immediately.

There was an awkward pause before he asks, ‘The girl with the helmet and really colorful hair says that you really are my girlfriend.’

‘I am.’ You reply, slightly unsurely.

‘Can you tell me our story?’ He looks at you pleadingly and you nod, taking a seat beside his bed.

‘What do you last remember?’

‘Running a couple of odd errands to earn some credits before returning to the LothalNet tower.’

‘That was at least 3 years ago Ezra.’ You gently tell him and he blinks, shock crossing his face.

‘I met you when you tried to steal some crates of blasters from Kanan.’ You recall, smiling fondly at the memory.

‘Who’s Kanan?’

Your smile disappears and you swallow hard before telling him who Kanan was to him and what happened to him.

‘Oh. I’m sorry. He seemed like a good guy.’ Ezra genuinely says.

‘He was the best.’ Tears sting your eyes as you thought of your space dad.

‘We lived on the same ship, the Ghost for almost a cycle before you finally admitted your feelings for me. You were so shy and embarrassed about it.’ Giggling slightly, you recall his stammering and blushing.

‘Future me sounds so uncool.’ Ezra complains causing you to laugh.

‘Future you saved Lothal from the Empire.’ You say and he shakes his head slightly.

‘I know that she said I became a Jedi and summoned an army of space whales to help me but I still can’t believe I did that.’ Traces of doubt are clear in his voice and you take his hand in yours.

‘You are capable of so much more than you think you are. You joined the Rebellion and even earned the rank of commander.’ His eyes widen, causing you to smile a little. This Ezra seemed so much younger that the boy you knew. Still they shared many similarities.

‘Once, you woke me up in the middle of the night to watch the stars. You said your favourite constellation was the one of the Loth Wolf.’

‘It is.’ Ezra seemed amazed and you decide to tell him that he’s met Loth Wolves before.

‘No way. You’re kidding me. You have to be.’ The blue haired boy shakes his head in disbelief and you’re doubled over in laughter, assuring him that it’s real.

The rest of the day pass in a similar fashion, you and the rest of the remaining Ghost crew taking turns to tell him stories of his adventures.

******

‘I hope I wake up as your Ezra.’ He sincerely says, causing you to choke back a sob.

‘I can see why he fell in love with you. You’re everything I ever dreamed of.’ He admits and you swallow thickly, reaching out a hand to brush back his hair. It had grown out and was now almost as long as it used to be.

******

You stay by his side through the night and in the morning you’re awakened by the most beautiful sight.

Ezra’s bright blue eyes meet yours and now his first words are, ‘Hey love.’

Flinging your arms around him, you’re now absolutely sure that everything will be okay.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Febuwhump Tag List:

@febuwhump

Ezra Bridger Tag List:

@bythevay

[ambidextrousarcher]

The Beat of a Heart

In honour of Doctor’s Day (barely in time), here’s a short story by my hand. It’s based mostly on real-life experiences, most of the scenes based on things I have seen in clinical postings. I am not sure whether I got the main character’s emotions right, but I did my best, so I guess that counts. 

[Image ID: A stethoscope with blue tubing, silver diaphragm and black earpieces lying on top of a blurred keyboard, a blue pad to the left of the stethoscope, with a piece of blank paper pinned on it. On the bottom left, the words ‘The beat of a heart...’ are written in red England Hand font. End ID]

I’m tagging my usual writer mutuals and putting the actual short story under a cut.

My taglist: @ambitiousandcunning @medhasree @shaonharryandpannisim @chaanv @arjunaparantapa @hindumyththoughts @spockswhore @ashsnipes​ @annlillyjose​ @seekerbrave​ @avakrahn​ @a-confusedmess​ @arachneofthoughts​ @paneerlajwanti​ @vishnupada​ @bookdragonfanish​ @iamnotthat​ @foreveres​ @shellweed​ @will-die-without-chai​.

She coughs a little, ignoring the rasp in her throat, wishing she could reach for her water bottle, but is impeded by the sheer number of people between her and the bottle in question. She reaches for the hand rub instead, the familiar smell of ethanol almost soothing for a moment. She blinks, turning to the older man sitting across her, the familiar questions on her lips.

‘Can you tell me why you’re here?’ she asks, noting down the man’s anxiety, trying to make her voice sound soothing. That is all the prompting he needs to launch into his long-winded story. She stretches a little, noticing the line of people in front of her, and the students hanging on each of her words standing behind her chair.

She smiles, looking behind her at the students, gesturing subtly for one of them to take over. ‘Make sure to examine him properly,’ she instructs. The student she had instructed nods, her eyes wide. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the younger girl responds, leading the man to a bed. She can see the couple of students who had bothered to attend all clustered together, their discussion hushed.

She suppresses a grin. They’ll learn. She herself had. And indeed, one of the the students comes forward tentatively, stopping her peer who had been taking the man’s history, and begins the examination.

She turns to her work, leaving the students occupied for now. It’s a familiar battleground of questions and answers, having to rush the patients because of the lack of time. ‘Ma’am?’ it’s a young gentleman. ‘Yes, sir?’ ‘I am sorry,’ he says hesitantly, ‘I don’t understand what you said.’ She nods. Clears her throat, looking wistfully at the bottle that still is too far to reach, and too empty besides. Looking at it only diverts her attention to the humidity the fan is doing little for, the sweat trickling down her back.

She shakes her head. Do not divert your attention. Her colleague shoots her an understanding look, as she explains the prescription once again. He nods, with a quiet ‘thank you.’ She nods back at him as he leaves.

‘Ma’am?’ She turns once more. If nothing else, she muses wryly, choosing medicine has definitely taught me to multitask. The students lead the first man back to her, their clinical skills enthusiastic if a touch inexperienced. One of the girls excitedly details the sound of an ejection click. She smiles, lending the younger girl her own stethoscope. The girl listens in with the man’s permission in quiet absorption, the ritual being repeated by each of her friends, all of them clearly awed.

The gentleman looks amused at the furore the click of his valves, amplified by his metallic pacemaker, has elicited. She corrects them when needed, leading to a response of all heads nodding at once.

As the clock strikes 1, the students ask for leave to disperse and the crowd of patients mercifully thins. She tells them to go and come back for a short class in the evening, finally leaving behind the pursuit of her elusive lunch and the all-important water.

Her lunch in front of her, her thirst finally quenched, she ruffles through her iPad for information to make the class slides for tomorrow’s discussion. All too soon the short break is over, the slides still unfinished, and she stands, following her friends out of the Duty Doctors’ Room to go on ward rounds. Her eyes flit to a notification on her News app, of a doctor being beaten by goons. She sighs. There is no use pondering over this. I can only do my best. She knows protests do little good, so she hardens her heart and strides out, sliding her phone in her pocket.

Somewhere in the middle of the rounds, the students following her and the senior doctor like ducklings following mother duck, one of them comes running to her. ‘Ma’am,’ his voice is high with fear. She gives him her immediate attention. ‘There’s a man on that bed…’ the boy points, ‘…17, he’s…he’s not really breathing.’

Oh, no. Her friend steps up, running to the patient, while she looks for his details, adrenaline sharpening her senses.

He is a new patient, there is next to nothing on his chart. She can hear a lady wailing and she winces. No one should see their loved one in such a situation, she thinks, even as she squares her shoulders, moving towards the bed, shaking her head at her friend, who had already started CPR. She gently moves the lady aside, trying to console her, even when there is fear in her own heart that the news she might have to deliver could be irredeemable.

‘Doctor?’ asks the lady querulously, ‘you’ll save him, won’t you?’ She looks down for a moment, before meeting the lady’s gaze. ‘We will do our best,’ she replies quietly, grave as the situation is. The lady nods, tears still pooling in her eyes.

She can hear her friend panting. Quiet and quick, she swaps her place with him, continuing CPR. He shoots her a grateful look. She turns her attention to the patient. Between the three of them, they manage to get the patient breathing, she notes with relief. That relief doesn’t last long, though, as she looks the patient over. The catheter connected to him, filled with orange urine, the gross ascites and icterus. He’s on Rifampicin. TB with hepatic encephalopathy. One glance at her friend tells her that he, too, is thinking the same.

The lady with the patient…his wife by the sound of it, reads the grave news on their faces, facilitated, perhaps, by her intubated husband’s gasps of breath. She sinks into the bars of the hospital bed for support. She is at a loss for a moment, as she always is when confronted by the inevitability of death. She kneels then, her hand on the lady’s shoulder, silently commiserating.

When she stands, she looks at the downcast yet awed students and forces a smile. ‘Well,’ she says, stopping them as they turn away, towards the exit, clearly assuming that class is cancelled for the day. She has no intention of doing that, though. They need to learn that life doesn’t stop for those of us still hale.

At the sound of her voice, they turn as one, looking at her with eyes comparable in size to dinner dishes. ‘I’ll just wash my hands and come back,’ she says firmly. ‘You guys go wait in the Duty Doctors’ Room for your class.’ They keep staring at her for a few moments. ‘Go on,’ she instructs. They obey, darting reverential glances at her, talking in hushed whispers. How could someone literally save a life and just go back to normal like that? She hears one of their voices, quiet, dazzled. Despite knowing the truth, the innocent fascination in the boy’s face makes her smile.

I don’t know! She hears one of his friends reply. I want to be a doctor like that, when I finish my degree, when we really become doctors, the girl says, making her smile wider. The younger girl sounds like a young child deciding the goal of her life.  

She tamps down the giddy joy and the grief simultaneously warring inside her, long since used to contradictory emotions, keeping a straight face as she strides to the washbasin.

When she enters the Duty room for the class, they’re discussing the exposure she could have had. She smiles wryly for a moment. This kind of exposure is a fact of life, she nearly blurts out, deciding not to, enjoying their impressed approval for a moment, before she clears her throat.

They all look abashed. She decides to proceed as if the moment before had not occurred, which was helped by one of them asking about the man she had done the CPR on. She summarises the case, gives them a few topics to read on and sends them home.

Before leaving the hospital proper, she circulates the wards once more. The CPR patient crashes again. This time, though they try long and hard, the lose the man, the beat of his heart forever silenced.

Her senior takes responsibility of the formalities, telling her to leave. Leave she does, casting one last glance back at the shell of the man, helplessness overtaking her for a moment.

She checks in with her colleague manning the night shift if she is free to go, fighting the uncanny feeling of déjà vu that comes with every patient they lose suddenly, the realisation striking anew that life goes on.

It is a leisurely walk back to hostel, the cool air soothing on her sweat-soaked shirt. She is thinking once more of the next day’s presentation, the number of slides still left to finish off.

After a quick wash-up and dinner, she sits with her iPad. It is nearly midnight when she finishes her work, fighting her drooping eyes. She checks in her WhatsApp, shooting a quick goodnight to her parents. The statues of her medico friends are full of calls for justice against the recent violence. Her non-medico friends are, as usual, conspicuously silent on the matter.

Ah, well, she thinks, it’s not like armchair social media posts can actually do much. Besides, this is not an issue that they face. Why judge? They’re probably thinking the same I do.

 She debates posting a status of her own then decides against it, for again, social media can only do so much. The bitter truth can’t be changed.

Her mother’s voice echoes in her head, what mama had said the last time she had shared news of such violence. At least they didn’t kill him. You people get a lot of respect, you know?

She shakes her head, banishing those thoughts. She doesn’t want to have nightmares. Besides, tomorrow, she has to report for ID duty. She needs to be well rested for that. So she thinks of the awestruck students, the young girl’s voice playing in her head. I want to be a doctor like that, she said, when I finish my degree.

She falls asleep with a smile on her face.

When she is leaving for duty the next morning, she loops her stethoscope along the back of her throat, the diaphragm of the steth sitting firmly over her own beating heart. Time for another day at work.

Some terms that might be unknown:

Ejection Click: In some patients with heart problems, there is some backflow of the blood when the heart contracts. This backflow is heard as a ‘click’ sound when a stethoscope is used. This ‘click’ is amplified if the patient has a prosthetic metallic valve, as in case of the old gentleman in the story who is based on a real patient.

Rifampicin: A drug that is part of the four-drug regimen for Tuberculosis (TB). It increases the effect of another drug in the combination, Isoniazid, which is toxic to the liver. India has a huge number of cases of TB, being one of the TB-endemic countries. The orange urine is one of the most noticeable side-effects of using this drug.

Hepatic encephalopathy: Loss of proper brain function due to inability of liver to remove toxins. The patient on whom CPR was administered was in a coma due to this condition. He, too, was based on a real patient.

Ascites: Swelling of the abdomen due to accumulation of fluid in the abdomen.

Icterus: Yellowing of the sclera  (whites of the eyes) and bulbar conjuctiva, a hallmark of jaundice.

The doctor here makes the diagnosis of TB with drug induced hepatic encephalopathy because of the ascites and icterus combined with the rifampicin usage and the coma. It is an unfortunately common condition here. 

I just noticed that I haven't clarified ID Duty. It means Infectious Diseases ward duty. In this case, I meant COVID-19 duty, though it may not always mean that.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, zjofierose!

For @zjofierose. Happy holidays! Hope you like the story!  

Read On AO3

*****

Painted Roses and Howling Wolves

Derek presses the cloth firmly on the rose painted upon his skin.

“There,” his sister Cora says with a final swipe of her brush through her cup of water. “That should disguise it well enough.”

Derek lifts the cloth, studying the stark lines of the rose. “What if someone turns up with a rose too?” he asks.

It is unlikely that someone could have this same mark considering Cora has drawn it herself, but Derek knows of a few nobles who had been taken in by manufactured marks.

Cora pats at his shoulder. “All you have to do is drip your drink on either their mark or your own to prove that it is false.” She goes on tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Perhaps you should shave?” She rubs at her mouth where his beard scratched her.

Self consciously, he strokes it. Mother had finally agreed that he could grow his beard after yet another noblewoman had mistaken him for his decade-younger brother. “I’ll oil it,” he says. “Will that do?”

“It shall have to. Is there anything else you wish from me before I get ready?”

Derek inspects the rose again, half-expecting it to already be smudged or faded, but Cora is an artist in her own right even if she has to sell her paintings under Derek’s name. It’s still perfect. “No,” he concedes, and then he is alone in his room.

He crosses to the window, throws open the curtains, and stares out at the fresh snow that fell last night. Paths have already been shoveled, and Derek watches as people scurry to and fro.

He wishes he could go out riding today, but he doesn’t want to damage any of the horses by taking them into a drift too large to get out of.

Also, whenever his family hosts a ball, his mother loans out the horses to the nearby nobles.

Derek checks the rose again, a certain paranoia that it’s worn away. He can’t shake the feeling that even though there is no way it’s coming off with anything but some water and a cloth, he’ll be found out and exposed as trying to trap someone else who might have the rose.

It happens whether he hides his mark or not.

It’s probably because more nobles have marks that match or are easily mistaken for each other. Derek’s mark, a howling wolf, is the only one of its kind so far. Most of the balls since Derek was of marrying age have been trying to find his mark-mate. Of course, a lot of the balls have doubled as a status symbol for his family, but Derek can’t help but feel out of place among all the perfumed bodies wrapped in the newest of fashions.

He doesn’t enjoy the idle chattering of useless information, far preferring to discuss weighty matters unbecoming a lord of his position, son of the Baron and Baroness Hale. Some might think he wishes he were above his stature, but then, Derek knows, he’d have far more political events disguised as balls to attend.

He sighs, lamenting, and drapes himself over a chair. He has hours before the ball officially begins, and he is already dreading it.

At least his sister Cora and brother Daniel will be there. If Daniel’s betrothed isn’t present, and she may not be since her father’s lands are farther than should be risked in wintertime, then Derek won’t have to suffer the night alone.

If only he could find someone who would stay with him and chase away the rumours that follow him. Derek knows he could be happy with someone who doesn’t share his mark, but that acquiesce isn’t allowed in the nobility. Either he must find his mark-mate or suffer the whispers that he is broken and unlovable or worse, violent and dangerous, as the rumours have turned to lately.

Derek sighs. Perhaps he can convince his mother to allow him to travel to the village. Surely there is some errand that must be in want of being completed, and with all the servants busy preparing for the ball tonight, none of them should be spared.

A solid plan. Derek rolls down his sleeve and hurries to find his mother.

~ * ~

Stiles leaps back with a yell.

Scott, digging around in one of the cupboard, jerks, banging his head on his way out. “What?” he demands. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles shakes his head, throwing a towel over the bowl, hoping that breaking the connection in such a way will clear the water of any vision.

Scott eyes him oddly. “What did you do?” he asks.

“Why do you suppose I did something?” Stiles asks as innocently as he can—that is, not innocently at all. “Why must I have done something for you to accuse me?”

Scott doesn’t answer, instead pulling the towel from the bowl. He looks into the—thankfully—clear surface. He covers it again loosely and goes back to the cupboard, pulling out the coarse flour Stiles’ father had ground for them just last fortnight.

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. How could he describe what he saw? A wedding! And not just any wedding, but his own! He’d been standing in a grand hall, facing his groom, a man whose face Stiles still doesn’t know despite looking for him nearly every day for a year.

He’d been startled when the man had spoken his given name, repeating the vows of the priest. Stiles is not Christian despite living in a Christian land. He and his father are travelers, lost after the death of Stiles’ mother and the death of his home country.

He doesn’t know if he even wants to be married by a priest. Wouldn’t that go against his religion? He and his father haven’t kept with it, too fearful of declaring their heritage too loudly. Many people do not look favorably upon those of a different faith.

So all Stiles knows is that his groom is of Christian faith. He can’t deny that he is disappointed in that fact.

Scott looks up from where he is measuring flour. He points an accusing finger at Stiles. “Were you looking at your future again?”

“What?” Stiles splutters. “No. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You only yell like that when you discover a new fact about yourself.” He dusts his hands off, using the towel from the bowl to wipe them clean. “Aren’t you not supposed to use magic like that?”

Stiles shakes his head. “There’s no true rule. As long as I don’t expose myself without cause, there is no danger.”

“Exposure without cause,” Scott repeats. “And what, pray tell, constitutes exposure without cause?”

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t truly know,” he admits.

“Stiles!”

“What! It’s not like the magic itself came up with that inane rule.”

“No, that was the Queen.” Scott crosses himself as if speaking of that vile woman would summon her to their little house.

When she doesn’t appear to have them arrested for wanton use of magic or speaking her name, Stiles raises an eyebrow. Scott mutters to himself and gets busy again with mixing his dough. He sells the extra loaves to other peasants such as themselves.

This parcel of land is rather well off, the Baron and Baroness bequeathing much of their wealth to keep their people hale and healthy.

Perhaps they do it to make up for all the balls they throw in the Queen’s honor and their middle child, Lord Derek. He is due to be married off if the Baroness can find a suitor for the poor man.

Stiles has rarely had cause to see any of the Hales aside from the annual autumnal festival where they celebrate another splendid harvest, but he cannot get Derek from his mind. He has never been close enough to make out his features, but Derek stands well, strong and broad-shouldered. Stiles often takes a little time with himself after seeing Derek standing stiffly at his father’s side, discussing matters despite being the second son and not in line to take over ruling.

“Why are you making bread so late?” Stiles asks.

Scott sighs, put out. “The ball is tonight, and the Baron and Baroness requested a meal. However, their house is understaffed at this moment. The recent storm kept many of the servants from returning in time, and those that are there are busy with preparations, so I was asked to make a few loaves for them.”

“Makes sense,” Stiles agrees. “Want any help?”

~ * ~

Derek traipses through the fresh snow, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He likes snow better than people. It settles something in him to find a patch of undisturbed area and just study it until it feels like when he breathes in he’s a part of it.

The village surrounding his family’s home is sprawling, space between houses taken up by trodden paths and patches of suspicious water.

Derek is trying to advocate for indoor plumbing, as they are starting to have in the larger towns and cities, but people are afraid of change, especially change suggested by a man who cannot even do something as simple as find his mark-mate.

Derek scowls down at his arm, at the covered mark. If he had not been born with such a distinct mark, he’s certain he could have been married a dozen times over, whether he wanted it or not.

Instead, he is tromping all over the village, looking for the baker who is not the baker on the first street, to collect some of the loaves promised to his mother for the ball tonight.

He was supposed to take a left after the barber, but Derek had seen no barber. Just a butcher. Lost, Derek turns one way and then another. The streets have not been officially named and when he stops a gentleman for directions, he gets a grunt and a finger pointing at a building nearly three houses to his right.

Derek thanks the man, drawing close the servant’s cloak he borrowed, and marching up to the door. He knocks three times and waits.

When the baker who is not the actual baker answers the door, he frowns at him.

Derek is unused to being frowned at. Most who see him recognise him as the Baron’s son and immediately start trying to ingratiate themselves to him.

This man, with his dark eyes and reddened lips narrows his eyes at him. “State your business,” he says.

“Derek,” Derek replies, “from the Baron’s house. Here to fetch some loaves for the ball that is to commence this evening.”

“Oh.” The man steps back, allowing Derek to squeeze by. Their hands brush as the man reaches for his cloak while Derek moves to remove it himself.

Something like lightning passes between them, and he freezes, staring down at their hands. The man has already pulled away, a muttered apology falling from his lips. His voice is roughened, syllables not quite right in the sense that they aren’t as distinctly English as Derek was expecting.

The man must be a foreigner. He speaks well though, so Derek would hazard a wager that he is not a new foreigner.

“Stiles,” the man offers.

“Derek,” Derek says again.

There is a clatter from the baker’s bench.

“Derek?” the real baker squeaks.

Derek nods.

The baker bows quickly, hissing at Stiles to do the same. Derek holds up his hands. “There is no need for that,” he says, aware that he is grimacing. Were he any other noble, he would fair demand it of his people, but Derek is the second son of the Baron and wishes no part in the almost un-Godly worship the people heap upon the nobility.

“Um, the loaves are almost ready. Well, most of them.”

The baker points at the nine loaves lined up on the edge of the table. Derek pretends to inspect them. They’re bread. It’s pretty hard to mess up bread.

Derek knows his mother sent him for twelve loaves, but really, how much food are they planning on serving? Derek knows it’s almost always a full meal. He is usually the only one too nervous and unsure to eat. Nine loaves honestly is probably enough, but just in case, he had better wait for the other three.

“I have time,” he says, and the baker and Stiles exchange a look of dismay. It stings in the same way the whispers that float around Derek do, and self-consciously, he rubs at his mark. “I can wait outside?” he offers. It’s freezing, but Derek would rather spend his time marching around the streets than here where his presence is wholly unwanted.

“No, no,” the baker hurries to assure him, but Stiles interrupts with a quiet, firm, “Scott.”

Derek inclines his head, wraps his cloak a little more firmly around himself and bids both men a good day. He’ll return when the sun drops lower than the rooftops. That should be plenty of time for the remaining loaves to be baked and cooled enough to carry.

Then, he takes his leave.

The door barely shuts before Stiles and Scott burst into conversation, and Derek feels the same tug of pain on his heart.

His family are the only ones who tolerate him.

Perhaps the rumours are right and Derek is unlovable.

He shudders in the wind and then starts walking, keeping the street to his right so that he can find his way back.

~ * ~

“Why did you kick him out?” Scott demands as soon as the door closes. Stiles violently hushes him, certain that Derek is still listening at the door.

“Did you not see his clothing under his cloak?” Stiles snaps. “He is a noble. Why did you not tell me the nobles here gathered their own stock?”

“How was I to know?” Scott retorts. “Normally they send their servants. I guess Hale Manor is short-staffed now.”

“It is nearly Christmas,” Stiles agrees. He knows very little of how the Christians actually celebrate their designated birth of Christ, but he does enjoy some of the traditions like traveling home to see family or having feasts, if able.

He and Scott always go out to his father’s home and help with harvesting ice for summer. Then they sit around the stove and drink spiced cider.

“Besides,” Scott continues, “Derek isn’t a noble you have to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s different. You saw how uncomfortable he got when I recognised him, right?” Stiles nods. “Well, that’s just how he is. It’s just accepted as fact that the Royals were appointed by God, but Derek questions that divine right. He would much rather be elsewhere than at Hale Manor, but even a lord with very little chance to ascend to the throne, he’s expected to perform the same duties as his elder brother and father.”

“And what else of him?”Stiles asks, thinking of the spark that ignited when their hands brushed. He wonders what it means and why Derek’s countenance is markedly familiar even though Stiles is positive he has never seen him this close before today.

“These balls the Hales throw every month? They’re to find Derek a suitor.”

“He is unmatched?” Stiles finds that difficult. Many nobility, even lower ranking ones like Baron Hale, have their children betrothed before they are even out of swaddling. Of course, they don’t marry until each child has grown, but he still finds it surprising to hear that Derek is unattached.

Scott shrugs. He checks on the three loves still baking and decides they are done. He pulls them and sets them on his table to cool. “Most nobles find the match to their marks easily. Derek apparently has the mark of violence upon him, and none of the other nobles wish to marry into that.”

Stiles purses his lips, wondering at that. He thinks of his own mark, a faint outline of a howling wolf. He knows that wolves have been driven from this land long ago, considered far too dangerous to be around people and livestock. He keeps his mark hidden because he does not wish to have the same reputation of a wolf. Perhaps Derek has the same predicament?

There is a gentle rap upon the door, and Scott hurries to open it.

Standing on the step is Derek. Despite his thick cloak, he is shivering quite obviously, and Stiles feels a pit in his stomach open. Without ever having met Derek, he likely treated him exactly as the other nobles around Derek did.

He waits for Scott to invite Derek in, and even then, Derek just collects the loaves, leaves a bit of coin on the table for the food, and turns to go.

“Wait,” Stiles calls.

Derek pauses, looking back over his shoulder with a puzzled expression.

“Have you anyone to go to the ball with?”

“No,” Derek says. “If I had, I do not think there would be a ball.” He looks contemplative before turning back and setting the loaves down. “If you would go with me, I would make it worth your while.”

“And how is that?” Stiles asks. He cuts a glance to the coins. There is enough there for Scott to buy more provisions so that he can make more bread.

Derek follows his eyes. “I have a bit of coin that you may have if you accompany me for this one evening.” Derek rubs at his arm where, presumably, his mark is. Stiles’ fingers twitch, wishing to follow the action. Derek looks resigned when he says, “I only wish for one evening of pleasantness. You may be expected to dance, but please do not leave my side.”

Stiles agrees readily, despite the fact that he has no truly nice clothing and will surely be as out of place as a spring bloom in the dead of winter.

Derek smiles then, and Stiles feels taken. His heart beats wildly to be the recipient of that smile. “Come with me now and I shall find you something to wear,” Derek says, as if he knows Stiles’ very thoughts.

“Can you spare me, Scott?” Stiles asks. Scott doesn’t hesitate, grabbing the loaves and all but throwing them into Derek’s arms and shoving both of them towards the door.

“Have a wonderful time at the ball,” he says, shutting the door behind them.

Stiles barely had time to grab his cloak, and he wraps it tightly around himself. Derek smiles again, small and private.

“Thank you, Stiles. I do appreciate you so for taking time to do this.”

“You are paying me,” Stiles says, but he keeps his voice low, aware that neither he nor Derek need further damage to their reputations. He clears his throat, falling in step with Derek as they make their way through the slush on the streets. “Will your parents be angry at you for brining a male suitor to the ball?”

“They should be so happy that I will have someone that I think they shan’t bother you about what is beneath your trousers. Besides, they have been expecting that perhaps I would settle with a man instead of a woman.”

Stiles chokes on a breath. “Have you been with a man before?” Stiles himself has not, but he finds that he is not opposed to the idea. He only wishes that if he and Derek do end up spending the night engaged in an altogether private dance that he was not being paid for his adventures tonight. It sours the thought considerably.

Derek shrugs. “No,” he admits quietly. “But, when I imagine something like that, I rarely see myself with a woman.”

Stiles blushes. He has dreamed sometimes of his spouse, and as Derek said, it is almost never a woman. Stiles was seeking answers and that is why he has been performing his future-spying spells.

He cuts a quick glance to Derek, wondering his thoughts on magic use. There are people that claim any who use magic are evil, destined to destroy and damage, much as the wolves driven from the land were reputed. In Stiles’ homeland, magic was celebrated, thought of as an extension of one’s self. Here, he is as likely to be put to death for looking in a bowl of water as he is for burning down a Church.

Christians are confusing.

Derek adjusts his hold on the loaves, and extends a hand to Stiles. “I feel you have something very important to tell me,” he says, and Stiles wonders again if Derek has a secret line to his thoughts. “I shall not push you, and whatever you reveal to me will be kept with utmost confidence.”

Stiles lets Derek take his hand, feeling that same spark from earlier. Unbidden, the words rise up in his throat, and it takes great effort to force them back down. He will tell Derek about the magic, maybe, when they are not surrounded by people who may take Stiles’ words badly.

For now, though, he takes the comfort offered by Derek, and follows him to Hale Manor.

~ * ~

Derek drops the loaves in the kitchen and then drags Stiles up to his room where he digs through his wardrobe until he finds a waistcoat, trousers in the same colour, and a shirt that looks as if it will fit Stiles.

Derek brings in Boyd, a fantastic tailor, who makes Derek’s ill-fitting clothing look wonderful on Stiles’ lean and lanky body. There is breadth to those shoulders and the colour of the coat and trousers bring out the flecks of gold in Stiles’ eyes.

Derek averts his eyes when Stiles’ mark is revealed, wishing to offer him the same privacy Derek himself has rarely had with his own mark.

Boyd makes a surprised noise but the covers it with a cough, explaining that he swallowed wrong.

When Boyd is done, Stiles looks amazing. And it is time for Derek to also get ready. The ball shall begin in an hour, and he hasn’t even washed away his traipsing through the snow yet. He helps Stiles disrobe, averting his eyes once again so that he won’t accidentally look at stiles’ mark despite his curiosity. He knows it must be something as bad as his own if Boyd broke composure, and he doesn’t want Stiles to feel uncomfortable here. He is his guest even if Derek is giving him money to attend.

It is worth it to Derek to not have to spend the evening alone, subjected to the rumours excitedly passed about when he moves from one cluster of guests to another.

He reminds Stiles that they are not to be separated when they return from the bathing room and get dressed again. Derek chooses a waistcoat in green, to bring out his eyes, as Cora is so fond of saying. He pairs it with dark trousers and a white shirt. Stiles remains dashing, and Derek ties Stiles’ tie, aware that what is usually perfunctory at best when performed by a servant is made doubly intimate by the fact that whenever he gets too close to Stiles’ skin, there’s a crackle of electricity that makes him think of static shocks, when two things with too much charge interact.

He finds that, aside from the fact that the shocks are getting a little more painful with each discharge, he doesn’t mind it.

Stiles, on the other hand, seems more and more uncomfortable. By the time Derek is done, he is shaking.

“Are you all right?” Derek pours a glass of water for Stiles. He accepts it, sinking onto a chair to sip at it.

“No,” he finally says when the glass is half empty. He looks absolutely miserable. “Derek, I am magic.”

Magic? Derek presses on his mark. Isn’t everyone a little magic? He knows some people are afraid of what they don’t know, and magic falls into that category.

“And?” he prompts, certain that there must be more.

“And that’s it,” Stiles says, spreading his hands. He’s holding something else back, but Derek isn’t in the habit of forcing people to divulge secrets. He knows what it’s like to hide things.

“Well. It’s almost time that we go down to the ballroom. Do you feel well enough to accompany me?”

Stiles nods tightly. Derek sets aside the glass and offers his arm. Stiles accepts with a smile.

It isn’t until they’re already in the ballroom, glasses of punch in hand as Derek takes Stiles around the room, introducing him to his brothers and sisters that he realises he never told his parents that he was bringing someone. He hopes there aren’t many suitors to turn down.

“Derek,” his mother says disapprovingly when they stop to pay their respects to the Baron and Baroness.

“This is Stiles,” Derek says, in an undertone, aware that there are people staring at Stiles, trying to place him in their noble world. “He agreed to accompany me tonight.”

Mother hides her puzzlement well, accepting Stiles’ bow as proper greeting. She gives Derek a look that tells him he will have to explain later, but she allows them to continue circulating. Stiles appears overwhelmed and nervous, so Derek takes him to a corner and settles him next to Cora and Isadora, his other younger sister, who are discussing the best methods of shipping paintings throughout Europe.

His sisters immediately draw Stiles into the discussion especially when Isadora recognizes Stiles’ accent as coming from an area of Europe currently under mass migration, although, judging from Stiles’ mastery of their language, he has spent the past several years here.

Derek is content to stand over them, fetching drinks and a few bites to eat as required, but almost as soon as he steps away, his mother draws him towards the center of the floor to meet with a few suitors. Obediently, Derek draws up his sleeves and shows off the rose Cora painted so many hours ago.

His mother becomes enraged although she hides it well, while none of the suitors have a match to either Derek’s false or true mark.

The evening wears on thusly.

~ * ~

Stiles looks up when a young man joins them. He was expecting Derek to return with a drink, as Stiles’ first glass is long empty, but Derek appears to be busy with his mother.

The life of a noble.

“I’m Daniel,” the man says, shoving his hand in Stiles’ space for a quick shake.

“Stiles,” Stiles returns. He is perhaps shorter than he means to be, but Daniel looks delighted.

“So you are who Derek dragged here. There’s rumours that you are a noble from another country.”

“I’m afraid not.” Stiles smiles.“Just a simple peasant who immigrated a number of years ago.”

“Stiles was telling us of his life in Galicia.”

“Isn’t there some unrest there?” Daniel’s brow creases. It reminds Stiles of Derek, and he glances about the room, but he cannot see the man anywhere.

“There is,” Stiles confirms. If they talk much longer on this topic, the Hales will discover that he is not Christian, and Stiles hasn’t known any of them long enough to ascertain whether he will be safe if that information is divulged.

Their conversation doesn’t get a chance to resume because somewhat loudly, a lord and lady at the table next to them make exclamations of disgust.

“I don’t see why we keep trying,” the lady says, harshly. “They know that something is wrong with that boy.”

“Why they seem to think we don’t know it is beyond me,” the lord agrees.

Curious, Stiles leans a little closer, wondering who they are disparaging.

He gets an answer soon enough when he sees Derek walking towards them stiffly, holding Stiles’ drink in his tightly clenched fist while his mother and another lady, closer in age to Derek than his mother, walk with him.

“If you would just allow your mark to be seen,” Derek’s mother says, not softly enough to remain unheard.

“A mark like Derek’s can only mean violence,” the younger lady says, not quite as quietly. The Baroness shoots her an angry glare. The lady seems unaffected, continuing, “Just because wolves were driven out of England a few hundred years ago, it does not mean that we don’t remember their destruction and havoc. We only have to listen to stories from other countries to remember just how vicious wolves really are.”

Derek reaches them, hands Stiles the drink, which Stiles immediately sets down, and turns on his heel. His face is red, mouth in a thin line. He appears close to tears, but Stiles isn’t sure why he thinks that. No one else, aside from Derek’s family, appears bothered by the swelling of voices clamouring around Derek as he makes his way to the grand staircase.

Without quite meaning to, Stiles finds himself on his feet, throwing wide his arms and drawing on the magic he can feel running through his body. He uses it to throw his voice, amplifying it until it drowns out the noisy crowd.

“How dare you!” he shouts. “How dare you claim that someone is violent and dangerous when you know nothing of them?” He rolls up his sleeves, showing off his own howling wolf. “I know danger; I’ve seen men do dastardly things. You hate your Baron’s son because he bears this mark?” Stiles slaps his arm and his wolf leaps from his skin, settling down onto its haunches in front of Stiles. The wolf is nothing more than an apparition, barely tangible enough to see. Still, people recoil at the sight of it.

On the steps, Stiles sees Derek pause. He turns slowly, staring at the wolf. Consciously or not, he rolls up his own sleeve. Stiles is most disappointed to see that Derek has a rose, not a wolf, on his arm. Then Cora pushes past him, the discarded drink in hand. She uses a handkerchief procured from somewhere, dips it in the drink, and scrubs harshly at Derek’s rose.

The ink wipes away, leaving the image of a howling wolf there.

Derek touches it and then jerks back when a wolf bursts forth from his arm. Derek’s wolf doesn’t sit at his feet. No, it marches right up to Stiles’ wolf, touches noses and then settles there, both of them just waiting.

And still the nobles sit silent.

Derek moves to Stiles’ side, laying his arm atop Stiles’ so that their marks are pressed together. The wolves touch noses again and fade away to nothing.

“How wonderful!” Derek’s mother exclaims. “You have finally found your match.” She takes them both by the arm and leads them to the grand staircase. “I wish to announce the engagement of my son Derek, son of James, Baron of Beaconshire and his betrothed, Stiles of Beaconshire.”

The Hale children break into loud cheers and clapping, and grudgingly the nobles join in. Neither the lady nor lord who had spoken so disparagingly of Derek do anything.

The Baroness leans close to Stiles. “I would thank you not to do magic among our company again. I can convince everyone that it was simply part of the mark-mating, but I cannot protect you if word gets out that there is a sorcerer in our midst.”

Stiles is lucky, he knows, that the Baroness is ready to fight for him already when she doesn’t know him and was displeased with Derek bringing him in the first place. He can understand and respect her wishes to not perform more magic.

He won’t stop, of course. He’s spent much of his life learning what he has. He won’t put it away, and he hopes that bearing the same mark as Derek means that Derek will understand that magic is literally in Stiles’ blood.

They cannot be together if it turns out that Derek agrees with the persecution of magic users.

Derek takes Stiles’ hand, twines their fingers together. “Would you dance with me?” he asks softly. In the request, Stiles hears just how upset Derek still is but also how soothed he is to have found his mark-mate. Stiles looks around the room, at the unfamiliar faces all staring woodenly back at him. He would rather not, but he also does not want to reject Derek so quickly.

Perhaps one dance won’t be so difficult.

In answer, Stiles tightens his grip on Derek’s hand and leads him down the stairs and onto the cleared area. “You should know,” he whispers as they take their positions, “I am neither known for my grace nor my prowess in dancing.”

“That is quite all right,” Derek returns easily. “I am known as a brute despite the fact that I have never once lost my temper.”

Stiles smiles.

~ * ~

One dance turns into many, and by the time dinner is called, Derek is thoroughly enamored with Stiles. Not that he wasn’t before, but there is something genuine now when before Stiles was hiding a part of himself.

Derek would guess that it was the magic, but he also suspects that Stiles may not share the same faith as most of England.

He is proven correct when Stiles questions the food, and based on Derek’s answers, only eats the bread that his friend made.

Once done with that, and because Derek has disregarded his parents’ attempt at finding him a suitor, the ball drags. Neither Stiles nor Derek is much in the mood for dancing anymore, too busy conversing on the finer points of suppression of peoples. Derek thinks war is brewing, and Stiles knows it, from the way he speaks.

“I will still pay you,” Derek says at the end of the night when he and Stiles are in a carriage being ferried to the village. Daniel and Cora both begged to accompany them as chaperones, and Mother granted it.

He has the bag of coins Stiles more than earned sitting in his lap. Stiles has barely glanced at it all night, flushing whenever his eyes fall to Derek’s lap.

“I shouldn’t,” he says demurely.

They dance around it for another few minutes before Daniel, always impatient, bursts out, “For land’s sakes, Stiles, just take the damn thing. Call it a dowry for becoming a part of the family.”

Stiles blushes harder but he doesn’t give the coins back when Derek hands them to him.

“It doesn’t make you any less,” Derek says quietly. “If anything, it’s more. It’s an apology for how things turned out.”

“I haven’t minded,” Stiles says. “But are you certain you wish to still pay me?”

“I am. After all, what kind of a husband would I be if I did not give you a purse to do with as you please?”

He smiles, to take the bite of the words out. Stiles nods solemnly.

“And am I to be just a husband, or will I continue as I have?”

Stiles is an apprentice at the apothecary. It is the perfect cover for his magic, Derek thinks. If Mother hadn’t declared the wolves to have been a part of exposure of the mark-mate, Derek thinks Stiles could have hid behind the potions of the apothecary.

“You shall do whatever it is you desire,” Derek says. “And if you need more money to do it, let me know and I will procure it for you.”

They reach the door of Stiles’ friend and before Stiles steps out of the carriage, Derek gently lays his hands upon his face, tilting it ever so slightly until he can slot their mouths together.

The same electricity from their first touch sparks over his lips, and when he pulls back, he feels as though they are swollen and reddened, announcing to all that he has just kissed his mark-mate.

Stiles looks at him, fondness softening his face. “Good night, my lord,” he says and slips from the carriage.

Derek looks to his brother and sister, who are both busy pretending to have a conversation, but Cora is talking of a painting and Daniel is speaking of the holly bushes that will need to be trimmed in a few days.

Derek settles back in his seat with a smile. He strokes a finger down his arm, tracing the lines of his mark. From outside the carriage, they hear Stiles slam into the door of his friend’s bakery, a bitten off curse following.

Then Derek’s own mark tingles, the feelings of fingers tracing his mark though he stopped when they heard Stiles.

He smiles to himself, glad for the connection. It makes him happy that Stiles has accepted his mark. It makes it easier to accept his own.

And later, they discover just how sensitive and strong their bond is each with their hands on their marks and a different, matching appendage.

~ End ~

[returnn-of-the-mac]

One thing that really irked me about Fallout 4 was the lack of illnesses. Our bodies evolve alongside diseases, gaining immunity through exposure, which is then passed to the next generation. Then you have the Sole Survivor, who has effectively time-traveled to the future, and subsequently has none of this immunity. They should be very vulnerable to infection. How would the companions react to Sole getting horribly sick from what is the equivalent of a mild cough for the rest of the wasteland?

Ayy, so this is another combined react! I felt like even though these two aren’t directly related, they could work together. So thanks for the rq’s @conspiracysnail and @doodledust2017! Please enjoy!😊

FO4 (❤️+ Nick & Deacon) Companions React: Sole Catching a Deadly Disease, Slipping Into a Coma & Waking Up

What was supposed to be a quick trip to the Kendall hospital to gather some supplies quickly turned into a night-long ordeal when Sole and their lover unexpectedly encountered an abnormally aggressive deathclaw. After a long and grueling battle, Sole and their partner emerged victorius.

Now the pair was trudging along a beaten dirt road when Sole suddenly felt ill. Very ill. Like nothing they had ever experienced in their 200+ years of living. Nevertheless, they continued to carry on.

MacCready:

“Um, hey. Maybe we should stop for a minute,” MacCready suggested, “You’re looking kinda...grey.”

Sole wiped some sweat from their forehead, assuring MacCready that they hadn’t slept well the night before. He seemed didn’t seem to buy it, but didn’t bother arguing.

Moments later, the urge to vomit suddenly overtook Sole. They desperately fished through their bag for something to suppress it—maybe a purified water?

“What’re you looking for?” MacCready asked, concerned, “Gun? Ammo? Gumdrops?”

Just as Sole opened their mouth to ask for a purified water, they fell onto their hands and knees and began vomiting.

“Eww,” MacCready grimaced and backed up a few steps, “You get food poisoning?”

Sole continued unleashing a seemingly endless stream of puke and their companion grew concerned.

“You...you gonna be okay? You must be running out of stuff to throw up,” MacCready warily approached, “[Name]? Can you still breathe?”

The vomit stream did not cease, and Sole felt themself losing consciousness. The last thing they remembered was being shoved to the side moments before fainting, narrowly avoiding the vile puddle in front of them.

Curie:

“[Madame/Monsieur], you look unwell,” Curie noted.

Sole denied feeling ill and pressed on.

“Zis is zerious, my love!” The synth said firmly, grabbing Sole’s hand to get their attention. It was cold and clammy.

Sole was taken aback by their friend’s unusually stern tone, and Curie’s eyebrows furrowed.

“I apologize for raising my voice, [Madame/Monsieur], but I am zincerely worried,” she explained, “I knew exploring ze ‘ospital was a risk because you ‘ave not been exposed to many Post-War diseases. You’re immune zystem...it will ztruggle.”

Sole let out a long, rattly cough and Curie frowned

“Oh non...zis ees not good,” Curie fished through her supplies to see if she could find anything to treat Sole. She walked over to her companion and gently rubbed their back, hoping to soothe their respiratory tract. They coughed again— this time much harder.

“[Madam/Monsieur]! You’re pupils are constricting!” the synth observed, tenderly squeezing Sole’s hand, “Ztay with me, mon amie, please!”

Sole experienced tunnel vision as their lover’s pleas got fainter and fainter. Then, everything went black.

Piper:

“Blue, you’re not looking too hot right now,” Piper commented, “Are you alright?”

Sole denied their illness and insisted on pressing forward. After about 5 more minutes of walking, Sole started to see black dots materialize around them. They began to sweat and shake their head frantically, trying to clear their vision.

“[Name]?” Piper stated. Her voice sounded comically deep, as if in slow motion “Arreeee yooooouu oookkkayyy?”

Sole giggled at the sound of their friend’s voice before the black dots completely overtook their sight. They felt their knees give way as the world went black.

Gage:

“An’ so I told em: how old do ya think we are? Ten? A rubber chicken ain’t cuttin it. Neither is a whoopie cushion. That shit ain’t hard— uh...boss?” Gage paused, “Are ya still listenin’ to my story? It’s pretty damn funny.”

Sole weakly nodded, and Gage stared at them.

“You’re fulla shit, boss,” Gage chuckled, “Now, what’s on your mind? Ya look...spacey.”

Sole swallowed and took a seat on the ground, the world spinning.

Gage frowned.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

He took a seat beside them and noticed their ashen skin.

“You look like shit. Tell me what’s goin on.”

Sole suddenly felt chills and their skin went clammy. They shot their companion a panicked look before they felt their vision go blurry.

“Hey!” Gage yelled, grabbing his lover by the shoulders, “Hey! Talk to me! Fucking speak!”

Sole collapsed into the Raider’s arms and blacked out.

Hancock:

“You feelin alright?” Hancock asked, frowning, “You haven’t said a word since we left the hospital. That ain’t like you.”

Sole shook their head and continued moving forward. They wanted to answer, but they couldn’t. They were too nauseous.

“Hey,” the ghoul pressed, approaching a flat boulder. He sat down and patted an open spot ned to him, “Come here, gorgeous.”

Sole sat down beside their lover and immediately curled up next to him. Hancock put his arm around them, but now knew without a doubt that something was going on.

“No shame in needin to take a break,” Hancock murmured, kissing the top of Sole’s head, “If ya need an off day, we can just take the day off. No harm in that, doll. The Commonwealth can survive a single day without ya.”

Sole smiled and opened their mouth to say thank you. Before they could get the words out, however, they began to projectile vomit.

Hancock jumped in surprise, but immediately composed himself. He climbed behind Sole and [held back their hair/rubbed their back] as they continued to puke.

“Easy, easy…” Hancock cooed— more so trying to keep himself calm than Sole.

After a few minutes of non-stop vomiting, the ghoul felt his lover falling forward. He roughly tugged them back to prevent them from falling.

Sole now lay face up on the rock, eyes closed. The force of the puking and the dehydration had caused them to black out.

Danse:

“Taffington Boathouse is just over the horizon,” Danse announced, “It would probably make for a safe place to spend the night— assuming the settlers have kept the bloodbug population under control.”

When Sole didn’t answer, the former Paladin turned around to check on them. He noticed his lover straggling behind.

“Soldier? How are you holding up? Do you need to take a break?”

Sole nodded and plopped down on a rock, curling up immediately.

A concerned Danse approached them, and put the back of his hand to their forehead.

“[Name], you’re burning up. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Sole closed their eyes.

Danse frowned and sat beside them. “Soldier, are you going to make it across the river? We could just camp out here for the—”

It was then that Sole went completely limp and began to roll off the rock. Danse sprung into action and caught them just before they hit the ground.

“[Name]! Talk to me, [name],” Danse demanded, holding Sole and grabbing their hand, “If you are unable to speak, squeeze my hand.”

Nothing happened, and Danse noticed how cold and numb Sole’s fingertips were.

“Oh. God. Dammit!”

Although Sole could neither move nor speak, they could still hear the commotion. They made one final attempt to communicate with their panic-stricken lover before they blacked out.

Preston:

“Hey,” Preston began, slowing his pace, “I need to ask— we need to talk.”

An exhausted Sole mustered all of their energy to focus on their concerned companion.

“I feel like you haven’t been taking care of yourself lately. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” the Colonel explained, approaching his lover, “I hate to say this to you— and please don’t take this the wrong way— but you look horrible, babe.”

The words hurt Sole, but they knew Preston was right. They did feel terrible. Their entire body ached from head to toe, their lungs hurt, and they felt nauseous.

“You should rest,” Preston suggested, “Since we’re still pretty far from Taffington Boathouse, we can camp out here. I’ll gather some firewood. In the meantime, you should eat something.”

Preston handed Sole a noodle cup.

“It’s cold, but at least it’s packed with nutrients.”

Sole tried to pop open the lid, but their hands fumbled around clumsily.

“Are you okay? You’re shaking like a leaf, babe.”

Just then, Sole’s vision went blurry. The last thing they remembered was Preston shouting their name before they blacked out.

Cait:

“Hold up, [handsome/gorgeous],” Cait began, “Ye ain’t lookin to hot. You’ve gotta take a break.”

Sole ignored the redhead and pressed onward, but the redhead roughly grabbed their arm and pulled them back.

“Oh no, ye don’t! We are stoppin here and campin out. I’m not gonna have ye pass out on me in the middle of a firefight. Got it?”

Sole tried to wiggle out of their lover’s grasp, but they were far too weak.

“Yer a stubborn one, ain’t ye. I’m not surprised. But ye can’t even shake free from my grasp and I’m not even tryin that hard. Now what if I were an enemy, darlin? Ye’d be good as dead.”

Sole sighed and sat down on a rock. Their head was pounding and their stomach was churning. The nausea was becoming unbearable.

“Hey,” Cait began, crouching next to them, “Yer lookin a bit...green. Do you need—” before she could finish, Sole began to vomit violently.

“Shite!” Cait shrieked, falling over backwards. She was covered in pink chunks. Despite being thrown up on, she shot back up and scrambled to her lover’s aid.

“See if ye can chug some water down or somethin,” the redhead suggested. Unfortunately, Sole’s stream of vomit failed to cease.

“Bloody hell! Are ye ever gonna stop!?”

Sole tried to regain control of their stomach contents, but they were unable to. After a solid two minutes of vomiting, Sole blacked out.

Nick:

“Stop,” Nick demanded. Sole turned around, shocked by the detective’s uncharacteristically stern tone.

Nick sighed and approached his lover.

“You work so damn hard to ensure everyone is taken care of, but sometimes, you just need to take care of yourself, dear,” Nick explained, “You look exhausted. Still beautiful as alway, but jaded.”

Sole hated to admit it, but they knew Nick was right. They were wearing themself out. After leaving Kendall Hospital and coming in contact with hundreds— if not thousands— of foreign disease strands, they were feeling it now more than ever.

“Honey,” the detective began, placing his hand on Sole’s forehead, “You’re definitely running a fever. Please, just rest for tonight. You deserve it.”

Sole took a seat on a nearby rock as the detective searched his inventory for a blanket and food. As Sole watched their lover, they began to feel dizzy.

“[Name]?” Nick called, looking over his shoulder, “Are you alright?”

Before Sole could answer, their vision went blurry. They felt themself losing their balance on the rock.

“[Name]!” Nick cried.

That was the last thing Sole remembered before everything went black.

Deacon:

“Hey hotshot, you ain’t lookin too hot,” Deacon teased, “You actually look kinda cold. I see goose bumps on your arms!”

Sole tried to crack a smile, but they just couldn’t muster the energy.

“Baaaabe, you good? Do you need water or something? Oh! Maybe a teddy bear! I’ve got a ton of those!”

An exhausted Sole curled up on the ground, and their lover could sense that something was wrong.

“[Name], tell me what’s up,” Deacon pressed, “You look...horrible, actually. Are you sick or something? Did you contract some kinda disease at the hospital?”

Before Sole could answer, they started seeing stars.

“[Name]?” Deacon asked, worried, “Hey...you hanging in there? You look all cross-eyed. [Name]?”

Everything went black.

…

Sole groaned and opened their eyes slowly. The light was blinding and their entire body was numb. They could make out some shapes— some settlers and...a person sitting right beside them? They must be at a clinic in one of the settlements.

Before Sole could even finish processing the environment, there was a sudden commotion in the room.

MacCready

“[Name]!” The mercenary cried, throwing his arms around Sole “You’re alive!”

Sole could barely breathe with how tight their lover was hugging them. In fact, they were surprised he even had this much strength. Sole tapped MacCready on the back a few times before he got the hint and pulled away.

“Heh, sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, “You were in a coma for two weeks. I...I thought I’d lost you.”

MacCready’s eyes started to glisten, and Sole mustered a small smile.

“I’m not crying,” he defended, “It’s dusty in here!”

His lover let out a laugh, and the mercenary lightened up a bit. He pulled Sole into another hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. I love you so much, [name].”

Curie:

“MON CHERIE!” Curie shrieked, sobbing into Sole’s shoulder, “Oh, I zought you were gone!”

Sole pet their lover’s hair as they continued to bawl.

“You ‘ad a zerious virus. You caught it from ze ‘ospital. Ze Kendall one,” the synth explained, “I tried to ‘elp you as much as I could, but I zimply did not ‘ave the proper equipment.”

Sole continued to comfort their distraught companion. When Curie had finally stopped crying, she stared lovingly into Sole’s eyes.

“I don’t know zwat I would do wizout you, my love,” Curie breathed, “You mean ze world to me.”

Piper

“Blue, Blue, Blue, oh my god!” Piper squeeled, clinging onto Sole’s arm, “You’re alive! I thought that afternoon two weeks ago would be the last time I’d ever get to speak to you again!”

Sole smiled as their lover babbled on.

“I love you so, so, so, so much! To the moon and back! More than every last grain of sand on the beach! More than all of the dust in the Commonwealth!”

Piper planted a warm kiss on Sole’s cheek, and then pursed her lips.

“Don’t you dare go scaring me like that again, you goober!”

Gage:

“Are ya— ” He stared at Sole, “Alive?”

Sole nodded and Gage grinned.

“I knew ya’d pull through it, babe! You’re the roughest, toughest [girl/guy] I know!”

Gage punched Sole’s arm— much to the annoyance of the onlooking settlers— and gave them a rough kiss on the forehead.

“Ain’t no germs gonna mess with us.”

Hancock:

“Hey, how’re ya doin, sweetheart?” Hancock asked, brushing loose strands of Sole’s hair to the side, “I’m so glad to see you’re doin okay. I love ya, doll.”

Sole smiled, and Hancock wrapped his arms around his lover.

“You sure had me spooked. And I’m not scared of anything,” Hancock laughed, tilting his head toward a mountain of used jet puffers.

Sole rolled their eyes and the ghoul chuckled.

“I know ya hate when I do that but...I just couldn’t fathom spending the rest of my life without ya. I love you so much, and I care about ya more than I’ve cared about, well, anything honestly.”

Danse:

“There you are,” Danse sighed, squeezing Sole’s hand, “I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“And now you can finally stop pestering me about [his/her] condition,” an annoyed settler— seemingly the doctor— remarked.

“Affirmative, civilian,” Danse growled, “Now if you would please give us some privacy. All of you.”

All of the settlers left the room, and Danse looked back at Sole.

“I was...scared, admittedly,” Danse confessed, “If I lost you, I honestly don’t know what I’d do.”

Sole smiled at Danse, and the former Paladin pulled his lover into a tight embrace.

The two sat in silence for a moment, Danse holding his lover close, before finally breaking the silence.

“I love you, [name],” Danse murmured, “So much.”

Preston:

“Babe?” Preston whispered, “Oh my god. You’re awake!”

The Colonel beamed and pulled Sole into a tight hug. The settlers clapped.

“I really thought we’d lost you, General,” Preston explained, “You mean so much to me. You stuck by my side when I was at my worst, and for that I am truly grateful.”

Sole smiled and Preston gave them a kiss on the cheek before pulling them into another tight hug.

“Thank you for staying strong and surviving,” he whispered, voice wavering, “Being together with you is truly amazing, and I just couldn’t imagine— I don’t even want to think about it. I love you, babe.”

Cait:

“Good mornin, sunshine,” Cait giggled, “How was yer slumber?”

Sole raised an eyebrow and Cait ruffled their hair. She was unusually giddy.

“Ah, I knew a few germs wouldn’t take down the tank! I knew ye would be survivin,” the redhead chirped, “Didn’t worry a smidge.”

Sole studied Cait’s face and observed her puffy red eyes, the dark bags that framed them, and her hollow cheeks. She looked like she had been to hell and back. Was she back on psycho? Sole hoped not.

Sole furrowed their eyebrows and looked deep into their lover’s eyes.

“W-What?” Cait cracked. Her lip was quivering, “Quit lookin at me like that!”

After a few moments of silence, the redhead finally broke down. She threw her head down on the pillow beside Sole and began to sob violently. Sole rubbed her back as she struggled to breathe.

When Cait had finally cried herself out, she stared at Sole, wiping away a string of snot with her arm.

“Yeah, yeah I’m disgustin,” Cait mumbled, “And no, I’m not back on psycho. I know that’s probably what yer thinkin. I’ve just been worried sick.”

Sole smiled and Cait hugged her lover.

“I’d never undo my sobriety. You sacrificed so much for me. I can’t thank ye enough for that, darlin. I hate to sound cheesy, but yer the light of me life.”

Nick:

“My god,” Nick breathed, immediately pulling Sole into a tight embrace, “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

Nick looked at the young doctor in the room and nodded.

“Thank you,” he began, peering over Sole’s shoulder, “You are truly a talented young man. [He/she] wouldn’t be here without your hard work.”

The doctor smiled and left the room, leaving the couple in peace.

The detective held Sole and rocked them back and forth for a few moments before gazing into their eyes.

“Darling...I truly didn’t expect you to ever wake up from that coma. You were out for two weeks,” Nick explained, “By the time I got you here, you were in rough shape. I’m eternally grateful to everyone who came together to help you. And I’m so relieved that you’re alive and well.”

He planted a passionate kiss on Sole’s lips before pulling away and smiling.

“Get some rest, dear. You need it,” he stated, pulling the thin sheet up to Sole’s chin and fluffing their pillow, “I love you.”

Deacon:

“Well hello there!” Deacon laughed, his eyes brimming with tears, “Long time no see, babe!”

He playfully wiggled Soles hand around a bit before pulling them into his arms.

“I missed you so much,” he stated, wiping is eyes, “I really thought I’d lost you.”

He pulled back, forcing a small grin.

Sole raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t think you can escape me that easily,” he teased, “I plan on sticking around to annoy you for at least another few decades!”

[yodawgiherd]

Red flag pt.3

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Soon brothers.

Just not yet.  :D

In the following week, Mikasa learned more about sex than she ever did before. While the internet itself was a fickle teacher, giving facts and hundred and more opinions from anonymous users, Eren was an endless well of knowledge. It was her who asked first too, he didn’t even try to talk about it before Mikasa brought it up. And how could she help herself, with such an insane bomb being dropped on her!

First things first – she googled the name of the agency he worked at, just to be sure that he was not bulshitting her, but everything he said seemed to be true. The website was there, displaying the “ wide variety of services done by long-term professionals”. Although Eren’s name was not there, he told her that he is listed as Master E, a thing she immediately questioned. Over messenger, of course.

Master E? Damn that’s lame.

You wound me :(

I mean seriously, couldn’t you be something cooler?

Such as?

I don’t know! Master Evil. Dungeon Master. Lord of the Night?

Yea, I’m sure that dungeon master would be turning heads

….. Orgasminator?

Mikasa pls

Lord horsecock

Stoooooop I beg you!

Fine fine, you’re just jealous I’m that much better at naming than you

Sure am.

When he didn’t continue, Mikasa took the initiative.

Sooooooooooo, gonna tell me where the Master E came from?

Simple. Annie wanted to be Mistress A so I just latched onto her vibe

Uh-hu. So you are just that much unoriginal

:( sadly

Just imagining Eren pouting at his phone made Mikasa’s evening that much brighter. She wanted to see more of it.

Latching on Annie, you do that a lot don’t you?

Why is that?

Well, she’s the one who introduced you to this whole thing and even today she is the best at your agency, most advertised one too. Playing catch up your whole life? Maaaaaaster E? :P

Hey, it’s not my fault that men are bigger pervs than women.

Excuses

To be honest, I don’t mind being behind Annie, she’s good at this. Also, don’t tell her this, but she scares me sometimes

Scares you how :O

Annie can be really brutal when she gets into it. Nothing the clients don’t ask for, mind you, but still. If you’d see her victims….. the wounds……

Mikasa’s breath caught in her throat.

Are you serious?

I don’t know…. Am I?

Dork.

She frowned at her phone, but still looked when the answer pinged in.

I am partly serious though. She can be a nightmare, sometimes I feel like she’s on a one-woman crusade against the male population. And she’s getting paid for it too!

She sounds like a hell of a woman.

You bet :)

Master E also had several scenes online, to be bought and watched, and a few times Mikasa almost clicked the button and spent her hard-earned cash on kinky porn. It was the promise of a live show that stopped her from doing so. She didn’t know if she’s going to go yet but buying a video of something she could watch happening in real time was a waste of money. No, she wouldn’t spoil that surprise.

She learned much anyway, way too much even, things that made her blush and hide her face, things that made her quickly hide her phone. In moments like these, she was grateful that the communication was being done over the internet, as Eren was way too intense of a person to be talked about this face to face. Here, hidden behind her screen, she could pester him for ages, joking and making fun of whatever he gave her. And, during these conversations, she learned another important thing.

For a guy who was more or less a professional perv, Eren used a lot of emojis in his messages.

It caught her off guard, how normal and easy to talk to he was. She didn’t think that he was a monster or something, but Eren was right when he said that her opinion of him changed fundamentally once she found out about his job. Mikasa found herself texting to him, a lot, and he texted back, snapped photos until she started doing it too, and overall just had a great time. Levi was giving her sidelong glares when he kept catching her while she stared at her phone, grinning like a maniac, but she simply ignored him. How was she supposed to not laugh when Eren just sent her a photo of his cup from a coffee shop with a crying emoji. Apparently, they spelled his name wrong again and kept calling him Aaron.

What’s the most common thing they ask you to do?

She half hid her face in the pillow, already dreading the answer. The three dots that appeared in the corner indicated that he was typing an answer, and soon enough there was a ping.

I feel like I’ll disappoint you here.

Most of my clients are easily satisfied  - basic bondage/dominance stuff works wonders

They could do that with literally anyone else

Like their boyfriends and stuff

Mikasa frowned, typing an answer.

Why don’t they then?

Ping

Sometimes it’s the professionalism I bring to the table, and then I understand them.

But often it's just a lack of communication

You’d be surprised how many things can be solved if two parties talk to each other.

I usually advise it too, tell them that they could be doing this with someone they love and not me

You undermine your own clientele like this? Mikasa wrote Why would you do that?

A few dollars ain't worth if they could be happier. Then again, not every one of them takes my advice, it's difficult to open up about things like these.

That gave Mikasa a perfect chance to poke at him.

Not for you, apparently :p

Ping

:D true, but I work in the business

The range of things they discussed was wide. Save for her past, which she did not want to talk about, and made it crystal clear too, Mikasa shared a lot. She told him all about her brother and the gym, sent him snaps from her workouts and then typed back angry emojis when he called her sweaty tryhard. His overall ignorance towards something that was a big part of her life did raise a question. Grabbing her phone more firmly, she quickly typed it out.

Haven’t you thought about doing any martial art yourself?

You deff got the figure for it.

A ping later there was an answer.

Bold of you to say that when you never saw me shirtless :P

But nah

I’m a lover, not a fighter

Plus, you’re just trying to recruit me to your gym, aren’t you?

Levi promised you a bonus?

Spill your beans, Ackerman

Damn spammer. Yet Mikasa was smiling again, which made Levi, who just happened to be passing by, groan.

“Don’t you have a client coming?”, he asked.

She shook her head.

“In an hour, I’ve got plenty of time to get cleaned up.”, she made a gesture with her hand, “Now shoo, I’m having a conversation.”

“With Sasha?”

“Huh?”, she looked up, puzzled, “Why would it be Sasha?”

“Cause I never saw you smiling this much before.”

One week turned to two, and suddenly the day of Eren’s show was here. He remained true to his word, never bringing that event up, keeping it completely in her hands, if she wanted to show up or not. Mikasa was uncertain. The mystery pulled her in, she wanted to see these things for herself. Watching it on the internet is one thing, but live show….

All the stories Eren told her only fueled such a flame. He always omitted names and such, for the discretion of his clients, but he didn’t hold back on the details. To be fair, Mikasa did ask for those.

Sasha wasn’t much help in her decision process either, because Mikasa didn’t want to share all the details about Eren yet. She told her friend that the guy from the bar invited her to a strange-looking place, and wanted to know if she should go.

“Did you two fuck?”

Mikasa frowned, realizing that Sasha can’t see her over the phone.

“No Sash, we didn’t. He’s a friend.”

“Oh, okay.”, there was a crack on the other side as she probably munched on another potato chip, “And is he a friend-friend, or friend-you-would-like-to-fuck?”

“Why is that the question?”

Sasha giggled.

“Dunno just wanted to ask.”

“You’re not helping at all….”

“Because it's easy! You either trust that guy and go or don’t trust him, block his number and never see him again. Boom, solved!”

If only it was so simple.

Yet when the day rolled around, Mikasa woke up with a decision in her mind. She’s going to go there. Eren was a great friend, and she was curious about this whole thing. She will be masked, anonymous, and if there is something she won’t like, the door will be there. This raised another question, however, of what does one wear to a BDSM club.

Mikasa, in her vanilla life, did not feel the need to buy anything made of leather or latex and wasn’t about to start now. There was one pair of leather paints she used to own until one day a completely random guy on the street told her that her ass looks really good in them. Mikasa threw those pants right out that evening. Public exposure was something she was NOT looking for. So, she had a small variety to choose from anyway. Mostly jeans, one or two skirts and a single dress that she wore to prom and that probably wouldn’t fit her anymore. Standing in front of the wardrobe, she contemplated calling Sasha again but ultimately decided against it. Mikasa Ackerman is a grown woman. She can choose her own clothes, damn it.

In the end, it was just a simple shirt and jeans combo. She reasoned that it added to her secretiveness, as anyone could wear what she was wearing. Satisfied with her completely basic appearance, she headed for the door, grabbing the keys and popping her head into the kitchen.

“I’m heading out.”, she announced, “Borrowing the car too.”

“Oh? And you tell me now?”, Levi tsked, shaking his head, “Damn brat, you really have no manners. When will you be back?”

“Later, maybe tomorrow. Don’t wait up.”

The words were already forming in Levi’s mouth, but Mikasa spoke faster.

“I’m an adult, so please. Just don’t.”

And, to her surprise, he didn’t.

“Fine. But if there is even a single scratch on the car, I’m taking it out of your paycheck.”

“That’s fair. I’ll see you later then.”

“Later.”, he was already half-turned back towards the Tv, before he added, “Drive safely.”

And that’s how, an hour and a half later, she was standing in front of a completely unassuming building. The door was just like any other, with a small sign and everything, not strange in the slightest. The security guard might have been a bit of a giveaway. He was tall, wide and dressed in a tailored suit that fit him perfectly. When Mikasa approached, he sized her up and down.

“I’m afraid that this is a members only club.”, he spoke in low barytone, “Do you have a card?”

“I uhh... I was told that I can come in. I’m a friend of Eren, my name is Mi-…”

The guard raised a hand before she could finish.

“No names, please. We pride ourselves on anonymity.”

Seeing Mikasa nod, he continued.

“Mr. Yeager did tell me that someone might be coming and that I should let them straight in. So I will do just that.”, he stepped aside, “Once you enter, the masks will be to your right, and after choosing one please don’t forget to return it. Enjoy your stay.”

Mumbling her thanks, Mikasa dipped inside, finding herself in a small room. There were the masks, just as the guard said, and another door that led to the club itself. She could hear muted music coming through. First things first, she stepped closer to the selection, casting an inspecting eye over it. There were several types, all possible shapes and sizes form full hoods to tiny eye-masks. After a bit of healthy consideration, she grabbed a black one that covered the upper half of her face, more than enough to remain anonymous. It was not likely that she would meet anyone that knew her anyway, let’s be honest. Masked, ready as ever, curious and wanting to see more, Mikasa took a deep breath and entered the door, stepping right into Eren’s world.

[haikyuu-loves-thiccies]

hey hey heyyy can I request Oikawa, Bokuto, Tsukishima and Sugawara being jealous over their crush (who is also their best friend and manager),, thank you! PS. I love EVERYTHING you do \ (•◡•) / ((uhmm, well, i'm not english, so i'm sorry if something is wrong with these sentences ;-;)

Your english is great!!! better than mine and I’m a native speaker XD. This is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever written- all have similar ending styles, but hey... It made me laugh so :3

Oikawa

  Oikawa is a wildly jealous guy- its pretty damn well known. So it's no shock that whenever anyone else on the team tries talking to you, he'll butt into the conversation and slowly “scare” off the other guy, so that all of your attention is on him. You were one of his best friends, so you knew just how shitty he could get over stuff as small as a glance your way, but you didn't think anything more of it. It's just how he is, right? A flamboyantly jealous highschool boy who needs everything to be about him. Yeah?

  Well, either way, you liked conversing with the other guys, even Kentarou, and Kentarou seemed to like talking to you too! Even though he's very brash and will one hundred percent tell you you're an idiot or a dumbass or whatever insult is on his mind, the two of you do actually get along. Not just on some volleyball-player-to-manager level, but as friends, in and out of school.   So it's safe to say it was pretty shocking to feel his hand on your plush thigh. When you looked at your friend, he was staring at you, almost as if he had just realized where his hand was. Kentarou's face burned red, but he was frozen in place. You could hear the stomping of an angry brunette coming towards the both of you. Oh fuck.

  “Y/N! KENTAROU!” Oikawa shouted, his face fuming. Kentarou- without moving his hand- snapped to Oikawa and made a sour face. “What ARE you two doing?! And in the gym of all places!” He gasped dramatically, tilting backwards with his hands on his chest. “How dare you pull off such PDA on school grounds!”

  “O-Oikawa it's not like that-” you tried to explain but found yourself flustered and stumbling. God, he was a hypocrite, talking about PDA as if he hasn't been all over girls ALL OVER SCHOOL. But being called out like this- for something you weren't even sure was intentional on Kentarou's part, was making you burn with shame.

  “Don't yell at her you fuckstick!” Kentarou snapped. His hand finally let go of your thigh, leaving your skin cold from the sudden exposure. The two boys stood nose to nose, Oikawa burning with a rage  anyone could see if they knew what he was truly like- and Kentarou anyone could see no matter who they are.

  “Oh what, standing up for your girlfriend Kentarou? Is she your girlfriend now? Is that what's happening?” Toru teased, his tone not close to being as it usually is when he tries to get under someone's skin, instead coming off as pure burning hatred.

  “No you dumb fuck! We aren't anythin'! My hand missed the fuckin' bench!” Well, that did seem true. But you were still caught between the two boys arguing, so all you could really do was fade into the background towards the rest of the group while the two argued it out.

  “Save me.” You whispered to Hajime, who merely sighed at his friend's display.

  “Y'know Y/N,” he looked to you. “One day Toru will get the stick out of his ass and actually confess to you properly.”

  “HUH!?”

Bokuto

  Outside of the friendship Bokuto had with Kuroo Tetsuro- and outside of the almost boyfriendship he has with his vice captain, Akaashi, you were one of Bokuto's closest friends. You two trusted each other a great deal, telling each other things you wouldn't tell just about anybody else.

  It took approximately one minute and five seconds of a semi-flirty conversation with Nekoma's captain for Bokuto to be all over you, whining and grabbing places he most definitely should not be grabbing. Sure Bokuto could be jealous, but it was always more of a “I'm going to stand here and grumble/pout” kind of jealousy, not the “I'm going to purposely get in the way and cry until you pay attention to me” way.

  “H-Hey Bokuto could you um-” You tried to swat the boy's hands off you, but they had been firmly placed onto your stomach, squeezing your tummy all-to-intentionally for you to think it anything else

.   “Y/N why are you giving him your attention?” Bokuto pouted. “He doesn't deserve it! He doesn't even go to our school!” Kuroo feigned being offended by his friend's words, but was most obviously amused by the situation.

  “W-We're just having a conversation, Bokuto!” You tried explaining while unsuccessfully prying the boy's hands off you.

  “Doesn't matter! The coolest guy here is right here!!”

  “Well I can't see him if he doesn't let me go!” With this, Bokuto finally released you, pouting like a wounded puppy.

  “C'mon Y/N, it's not fair when the only pretty girl who talks to me talks to my best bro instead!”

  “Bokuto he just asked me if- oH.” Your face burned and, with an involuntary reaction, you smacked Bokuto's shoulder. “D-don't say that stuff!”

  “Whaaaaat? It's true!!”

  “Shut up! My face is going to melt off!”

  Kuroo snorted from somewhere behind both of you. “Wow, you two really are meant for each other.”  “WHAT?”

Tsukishima

  A jealous Tsukishima is a funny sight.

  You never expected to witness it, really, but you weren't complaining. You were friends with him for a while now- though some may see it as a one sided friendship, considering how the French fry can be. But you know better. You two are friends, plain and simple.

  Or at least that's what you thought.

  Now, here, talking to Yamaguchi about love and all that gushy stuff, you're starting to think Tsukishima might have feelings for either one of you- it's hard to tell who, but he doesn't seem very happy that the both of you are discussing dating and what your “types” are.

  “So your type is the excitable... Sweet kind?” You asked Tadashi, unable to stop an amused chuckle from seeing Tsukishima's sour expression behind your shared friend.

  “Erm- well, yeah, I guess! But I don't think having a type really means much. Like, I guess if anyone asked me out- or anyone nice, I'd give it a shot?”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” You agreed, leaning back in your seat. “Though, I know my type. One-hundred-percent bad boy lover right here~”

  “You... do seem like that kind of type.” Tadashi hesitated, smiling almost cheekily.

  “Haha, but I'm serious. A like a guy who could make me feel all rough and tough- and protected! It's hot.” Your words made the boy flush, so he merely nodded along. Behind him, however, Tsukishima was shifting in his seat uncomfortably. You couldn't hold back anymore.

  “What about you, Tsukki?”

  “What about me?” He responded, a small edge in his voice.  “Weeeelllll... What's your type!?”

  “Don't got one.”

  “Bullshit!”

  The blonde tch'd at you impatiently, which made you only more curious to get a real answer from him.

  “C'moooon Tsukki.... If you like Yamaguchi, you can just say so!” At his name, the smaller boy freaked out, waving his hands and babbling over himself, trying to get a coherent sentence but failing. Tsukishima merely growled, sending you a dark stare.  “Wrong friend, dumbass.”

  “Huh? Then what about Kuroo-san?”

  “Never in a million fucking years.”  “Language, Tsukki!”

  “Whatever, babe.”  “B-BABE? WHAT’S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN!?”

   Tsukishima shook his head, looking the other way to try and hide an all-too obvious smirk. “Nothing, if you can’t figure it out, dumbass.”

Sugawara

  Sugawara isn't a jealous type, riiiiight? No, no. The boy is actually very jealous. Very very jealous. It just depends on who it is. You wanna flirt around with Daichi? Be his guest! Hell, he'll probably join in! But you wanna flirt with- mmm, say, Terushima? Now that, he has a problem with.

  You knew Sugawara was a protective friend, so it wasn't a big deal when he pulled you aside after you were chatting with the overly-excited and flirty Terushima. And you knew what he'd say, so you just went along with it.

  “I just think you should be careful around him, Y/N!” Suga looked at you worriedly.

  “I know, Suga. But he's not as bad as everyone says. Yeah, that one thing with Kiyoko was kinda messy, but like, he really is a good guy, just kinda.. stupid?” You chuckled at yourself, but Suga didn't seem impressed.

  “I'm serious Y/N.”

  “I know you are, Suga, and I appreciate you looking out for me. But please, tell me, why do you think he's such a bad guy to be around? One interaction with Kiyoko isn't enough to go off of, really...”

  Suga pouted, casting his eyes downward and mumbling.

  “Cuz' he doesn't respect women.”

  You deadpanned. You actually deadpanned. Looking at Suga, you took more than a couple seconds to get your words working again.

  “I'm sorry... That was the most white knight think you've ever said- g-give me a minute-” Laughter escaped you before you could finish yourself. Suga watched you laugh, seeming to lighten up at your giggles. “Okay, okay. You think he doesn't respect women, yeah? Okay... I hear you. But like, really, what is there to go off of? I'm not gonna ostracize him over one bad interaction. Maybe giving him a chance is just what the guy needs?”

  “Well.. Yes... I see where you're coming from- and normally I'd agree with you! But...”

  “But...?” He was twiddling his fingers together, and after a small moment, he mumbled.

  “I don't want him asking you out before I can...”

  “...OOOHHHHHHHHHH.”

Thanks for the ask!!!

[valehirvas]

Was your dysphoria early onset or late onset? How did it start or get triggered?

I’ve been dysphoric since before puberty. My earliest memories of expressing a gender conflict were from kindergarten, when I asked my mom to buy me “boy things” instead of “girl things” because I “felt more like a boy”. It’s noteworthy that I was raised very gender-free; my parents most definitely weren’t trying to shove me into a girl box anyway, and I still managed to have these feelings.

It got infinitely worse the closer to puberty I got, at 8 years old I was crying myself to sleep because my future seemed hopeless thanks to my body, the fact that I’d never grow up to be a boy and a man. No particular reason other than that I just felt like I should have been one, and wanted to be one. My dysphoria’s always been very body-oriented, because I quite honestly was oblivious to gender roles and pressures until some years after I hit puberty when it became obvious that girls should be doing and caring about “girl things” like make-up and clothes and I - probably naturally enough - despised the very thought of that. Prior to that I spent my time doing absolutely whatever I pleased and wearing the kinds of clothes that I wanted - after puberty I was a little more conscious about how it wasn’t “proper” for me to wear the kinds of clothes I wanted to, for example, and when I did I just felt like crying because I felt so much more like who I wanted to be. There was a certain sense of doing something forbidden when I dressed in masculine clothes and did what boys did, so I kept it largely to home.

When I met my first other transgender person at 14, I knew instantly that that was what I was, too, and the feelings I’d had since childhood were dysphoria. Too bad this guy was a wreck - used drugs, alcohol and had attempted suicide multiple times - and it scared the shit of me because I thought if I let myself accept the feelings I had or gave into them in any way I’d become like him. So I went DEEP in the closet, if not for sometime later falling in love with a girl to whom I confessed that I’d always “felt like I was a boy”, and told her the male name I wanted to go by. (My middle name now is an alternative to that name.)

It’s noteworthy that at this time in around 2004/2005, transgenderism was a very rare thing to encounter. I hadn’t even known it existed, sans my own feelings, before meeting this one mess of a person. I’d always thought I’m the only one like this before then. So let’s just say it was rather understandable that I felt trapped to a similar fate, and wanted NONE of that.

At 15, I was placed in a group home (long story, basically malpractice by social workers who had a vendetta against my single mother, and I had severe depression), where my supervisor had a habit of borrowing me movies from her collection to watch to pass time. One of those movies was Boys Don’t Cry. Cue me going ever deeper in the closet because now my exposure to being a transgender person was suicide AND murder. I was never gender-conforming through this time, but I desperately tried to at least follow some kind of alternative fashion that was gender neutral, and most of the idols I looked up to were feminine, cross-dressing men at the time. (Visual kei, anyone old enough for that here?)

I reached my breaking point after two years of that - I hit 18, moved out, and immediately went full-time as a trans man, as for the first time in my life I had support from someone who actually knew me and could balance the terror I felt at the thought and helped reassure me that it was ok if I took that path. It was my girlfriend at the time, and although our relationship ended with my transition as she’s a lesbian, she remained my biggest support during and after the most critical parts of starting to live my preferred life. She got to see first-hand how I turned from an unhinged piece of shit into a much calmer, much happier person who could finally focus on something other than the pain I was constantly feeling, which was thanks to me finally letting myself just be instead of trying to cover up my feelings and be someone else out of fear.

The trigger for my actual swap from trying to embrace being a woman (misguidedly, as it was at times) was that I realised that I desperately wanted to grow a beard, and obviously couldn’t. That small thing just kickstarted the entire thing - I wanted more hair, and a little less desperately, I wanted to have a low voice.

As a reaction to my years spent trying to force myself to be more feminine, I went full on truck driver/woodsman aesthetique dude at first, which leveled out with time. Now ten years later I’m a gnc goblin either way, just a much happier one than before. It’s been a long journey here but luckily it worked out for me.

From comparing my childhood dysphoria with my forementioned ex-girlfriend who still remains my best friend to date, I’d say that my experience was both typical and atypical for a same-sex attracted individual. I wasn’t alone with it, but for my friend, her cross-gender desire was much more firmly rooted in the desire to be allowed to do things and go places like her brother, whereas mine was always “I should be able to pee standing up, I WANT to have a penis, why was I born a girl and why is it impossible for me to ever be a boy?” I couldn’t see a life ahead of me because of my body specifically, not because the role of a girl/woman was restrictive to me because it wasn’t. I’ve always been the mud-rolling, sword-fighting type and nobody objected to that in my childhood, I genuinely thought that most girls just picked liking pink and frilly dresses, because in my limited view nobody was forcing them to like those things.

Hopefully this essay answered your questions. I’m open to talk about it more or answer questions, there’s so much to it than this and I’d be writing a book if I tried to make it all fit.